


Hurry Down the Chimney Tonight

by Kavi Leighanna (kleighanna)



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Family, Romance, annual christmas fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 26,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kleighanna/pseuds/Kavi%20Leighanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santa's bringing a month-long gift to the BAU this year. And for once, it's not murder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: November 30, 2013

A month.

A whole flipping, freaking month.

What is she supposed to do with herself for 30 days?

More than that, what is she supposed to do with 30 days off stateside?

Emily sighs as she deplanes in Dulles, wondering if this is really the best decision she’s ever made. Of course, she hadn’t really been offered a choice either. The minute ‘time off’ had been uttered, Penelope had all but hounded her into purchasing a plane ticket. It had been easy to say no, she couldn’t impose – Penelope didn’t have a guest room, after all. It seemed, though, like the English rain had rusted her brain because the next thing she’d known, she’d received calls from both JJ, Derek and even Reid to offer her space.

They wanted her there.

How was she supposed to say no to that?

She hadn’t once returned to the States since transferring to INTERPOL. It hadn’t been an entirely conscious decision on her part, and certainly not one she’d aimed to use to hurt anyone. On the contrary, she’d left because she needed a change, because she needed time and space from her death, Doyle’s death, the drama and death of the BAU… It had all just piled up. A perfect storm of death and destruction to break her. Not an easy task, but she’d learned the hard way, not impossible.

She sucks in a deep breath.

It’s odd, she thinks in a strange way, to step back onto American soil. There’s an odd mix of dread and home that threads through her blood and makes her heart pound. Half of her is nervous. The other half is beyond excited.

She weaves through Dulles easily. She’s done this before and a month in the States means that she’s had to check bags. Not uncommon, not unheard of, but it means that it’s easier for her to weave her way through people. And Dulles hasn’t changed.

“Aunty Em!”

Her head comes up seconds before a small blond comet impacts with her knees. She just barely manages to brace herself, to make sure Henry doesn’t actually hurt himself. “Hello, Mister Henry!”

Oh. And there come the tears. She’d kind of been anticipating that. They’re a piece of her family. A family she hasn’t seen in over a year. Almost two. Or is it more. Holy crap she’s lost count. Isn’t that depressing.

She hoists Henry with her, exaggerating his weight – okay, so her side still twinges a little when she moves wrong, but no one needs to know that – and making him giggle. JJ’s easy to find in the crowd, tears in her eyes as she steps up to hug both Emily and her son.

“Penelope would have been here, but-“

Emily shakes her head. The BAU takes priority, always. She knows that. Better, she understands that. And if she’s honest, she’s glad it’s just JJ. No major fits, no major shows. Just a quiet insertion to the country that her heart still feels is home.

Not that England’s bad or anything just-

They’re not there.

JJ grins when she pulls back, looping her arm through Emily’s. “I’m so glad you’re here. And for a month!”

And Emily grins because at least a part of her is really glad too. 


	2. December 2, 2013

When Garcia and JJ announce at the morning briefing that everyone is expected in Silver Spring that evening for a surprise, Jack and Henry included, Hotch doesn't honestly think much of it. He certainly isn't stupid enough to miss a summons when it's presented, nor is he stupid enough to disregard it. JJ and Garcia, even Dave to a big extent, have been focusing more and more on doing things as a team, celebrating life and each other. It's not like Hotch feels he needs his arm twisted to get behind that.

So, he picks up Jack from the kid's frankly phenomenal after school program and drives through the insanity that is Washington's evening traffic. Sine Irish Pup near Pentagon Row is low key and casual, just what the BAU tends to look for in their after hours establishments. Hotch can actually feel his stress and anxiety levels dropping as he lets Jack out of the car. They're not a hard group to spot, his team. They've commandeered a back corner, out of the way but cozy.

It's Jack who sees her first.

"Emily!"

Hotch is startled enough that Jack's hand slips easily from his grasp. His son darts off and he watches, a little shell shocked, as Emily rises quickly from her seat to meet Jack half way. His gaze takes her in as she hugs Jack tight. She's different now, freer than she'd been in her final year in the BAU and Hotch isn't stubborn enough not to think that she is absolutely stunning.

Of course, Emily Prentiss has always been beautiful, inside and out. It doesn't take a blind man to see that. It takes this moment, this split second with her eyes close, gripping Jack and the relief that is so obvious on her face. As if Jack could every forget her. As if any of them could.

Her eyes are warm and surprisingly dark when she opens them to find his face. Hist stomach jolts, a million emotions crowding in at once from their once-secure boxes. Distance, it seems, has done nothing.

Because he, like all men he thinks, is attracted to Emily. He had been years ago, when she'd been a part of his unit and it hasn't changed today. Of course, back then regulations had played a driving role in his decision not to make a move. More than that, she can do better. So much better. He's a single parent married to his job and that's not what Emily deserves. It doesn't mean he wasn't utterly devastated when she'd declare, out of the blue he might add, that he was taking Clyde Easter's offer to head up an INTERPOL office. In London, England.

He has  _missed_  her. He's missed having her in the field, in the office, even in his home with Jack as she'd taken to doing, Beth or no Beth. She'd been his best friend. And that, more than anything else, had been the reason why he hadn't fought her decision to move half way across the globe. But now she's here, standing in front of him, just setting Jack aside so she can pull him into her arms instead.

"Hi," she murmurs into his ear.

He hugs her back, just as tightly he knows. "Hi."

She presses a kiss to his cheek with a grin. "Missed you."

It falls off her tongue so easily, like he was never her unit chief, like she's never seen him emotionally closed off, or given him even an inch when it comes to showing affection. This is after-hours Emily though and through, so he gives her both dimples in response. It makes her eyes bright.

"How long are you here for?" he murmurs, reaching for her hand. He can't help it, really. He needs the feel of her skin beneath his palm for just a moment. It's not pathetic, he tells himself. It's human.

"A month," she says, eyes glowing and a blush rising in her cheeks. "Clyde says I work too much."

"Clyde's in love with you," JJ chimes in with a snort and a roll of her eyes. "He's making you take the time off so you stay in London."

Emily's blush intensifies. Hotch is a little surprised to see how fast the pink is rising in her cheeks. Maybe there's something about Clyde that she's not telling?

"I had the days banked," Emily says instead.

"And we told her she had to come," Penelope adds. "Now, find a chair, Boss Man, let's do this right!"

Really, they do it the only way the BAU knows how. There's a lot of laughter, more than a few cracks of nerdiness and they probably get just a little too loud for the pub on a Sunday night. But no one seems to care. Emily's here, and even if it's just for a few hours, back in the fold. It feels like nothing else.

But, like all good things, they trickle away eventually. Derek and Penelope first, Reid and Blake – who got along famously with Emily, though it came as no surprise – then Dave. Jack is pretty much asleep on Hotch's shoulder before he finally gives in. It doesn't matter though because JJ's already standing, reaching for her coat and turning to Emily.

"We should go."

Emily nods, though Hotch notices a distinct reluctance as she pushes herself to stand. She reaches out to brush a hand fondly over Jack's head and Hotch has to swallow around a weird lump in his throat.

"Breakfast?" he blurts. He's not even sure he processed the idea before he spit it out.

It takes Emily off-guard, but she softens almost immediately. "Yeah. Breakfast. Same time, usual place?"

"Sounds good," he manages, cursing at the way his pulse is leaping, the way his heart is pounding. She's never done this to him before. Maybe distance has only made it all worse. She doesn't help when she leans over to press a kiss to his cheek.

"See you tomorrow," she says softly.

As he leaves the pub and bundles Jack into the car, he can't stop himself from thinking that tomorrow cannot come fast enough.


	3. December 3, 2013

It's just breakfast.

More than that, it's a breakfast she's done hundreds of times. After she'd 'returned from the dead', she'd made more of an effort with the team, isolating individual activities and creating specific traditions special to each of them. It's easy for her to admit, now that she's been through the therapy, that it had been out of guilt. At least, in part. But it had gradually turned into a way to connect, to take time out of the insanity that was their day-to-day for each other.

For her and Hotch, it had always been breakfast. They were slaves to their workloads and schedules, of course, but she'd always looked forward to it. Even Beth hadn't changed their system.

And yet, there were nervous butterflies in her stomach. The teenager kind.

Okay, so maybe she'd in the tinest bit of denial. It's more like hiding, she thinks, because she's not denying that she's attracted to the unit chief, she's just... Not doing anything about it either. She's not blind or stupid, aftere all. He's smart, strong and hot as hell with a pair of knee-weakening dimples and the most adorable little boy. And yeah, maybe he's a little too contained, shoving emotions down a little too hard, and maybe he takes the idea of being strong for others just a little too far, but that's what makes him Hotch. And Emily likes that, maybe a bit too much.

She's not expecting anything to come of this breakfast. It's breakfast, the same way it's always been. It's a chance to catch up since they haven't been in direct contact since she left. For her... She'd just never known how to start the e-mail. For him, well, she's trying not to read into it.

It's just breakfast.

"Ready?" JJ asks, knocking on the door frame.

"Yeah." She tries to make herself sound calm, normal, not nervous and breathless. JJ's eyebrow arch tells her she's not ver successful. Damnit. If she's like this with JJ, there's every possibility all ofnher feelings will be painfully on display when she's sitting across from Hotch.

"Stop," JJ instructs, nudging her shoulder as she passes. "It's just Hotch."

"I know," Emily answers sheepishly, with just a touch of annoyance. "I'm trying."

But by the time JJ pulls up to the diner Emily's been to countless times - in addition to breakfast with Hotch, she hadn't lived far from it during that last year - her stomach hasn't settled. It's actually ridiculous, she thinks as she climbs out of the car, just barely remembering the gift bag in the back. Technically, it's a gift for Jack, but Emily's pretty sure Hotch will benefit from it too.

He stands to greet her, which makes him thankfully easy to find. This time, he's the one to intiate the hug. She's sure the feeling of his arms around her would have made her more nervous if it weren't for her body's conditioned response to the smell of him. How many times had just being seated next to him on the plane or in the car settled her bad days?

"Morning," she murmurs into his neck.

"Hi," he answers.

Then she's stepping back, jusy barely brushing her mouth over the stubbly skin of his cheek as he eyes her Santa-covered package.

"What's this?"

She feels that damn blush climb her cheeks again. It's a new and disgusting habit, but she feels like she can't tell up from down with him. Nothing's changed, at yet, everything has. "For Jack."

Hotch arches an eyebrow, even as he slides the bag from her grasp.

"An advent calendar," she explains impulsively, sliding into the booth. He's already ordered her a coffee and she hums a little as she wraps her hands around the mug. "But not a chocolate one. When my dad was still around, he'd write traditions or quotes on little slips of paper. I figured you guys could do it together."

He looks stunned for a moment, long enough for her to catch it, before his face smooths out again. "Thank you."

Then they order and talk, get caugh up on each other's lives. Jack's doing exceptionally well, she learns, and they're all recovering admirably from the drama of the year prior. She also learns that he and Beth are no longer together, much to her twisted hope and chagrin.

"It was for the best," he says quietly. "Part of it was the distance, but some people just aren't meant to see the things we see."

They talk about INTERPOL, about the generally dreary English weather. She admits she finds it difficult to get a good American cup of coffee in a nation so fixated on tea but she's absolutely addicted to Jammy Dodgers and wouldn't Reid be proud. It all flows easy and she doesn't even realize they've been there for hours until he checks his watch and admits it's time he went into the office.

"I'll make sure this gets to Jack," he promises, as he drops her back at JJ's brownstone. Then he pauses with an uncharacteristic hesitance. "I'll see you."

"You will," she agrees easily. "We can't avoid each other that long."

She pushes herself from the car - because that had sounded much better in her head - and all but scampers into JJ's house.

Sometimes, she's such an idiot.

* * *

When her phone rings later that night, it catches her completely off guard.

"Prentiss," she answers automatically, brow furrowed.

"Hiya Emily!"

Her face clears, blossoming into a wide grin. "Jack in the box!"

That gets a giggle.

"What can I do for you, Buddy?"

"Daddy gave me the calendar," he says carefully. "Thank you."

"You are more than welcome, honey. Did Daddy tell you how it works?"

"Yup!" he replies, always such a happy boy. "I get one a day. Daddy says it's Christmas stuff?"

"Traditions," she affirms. "Things you do around Christmas time with your friends and family."

"And Daddy says you'll be here for a long time."

"Until just after Christmas," she agrees, trying to keep the amusement from her voice.

"So you'll do the things with me?"

That makes her blink. "What?"

"The things in the doors," Jack answers promptly, entirely unfazed in his childish determination. "The family and friends things."

"The traditions," she says carefully.

"Yeah, those!"

Emily chews on her lip. that had not been her intention at all. The calendar is for father and son, a way for both of them to make time for the things that matter. "Jack, sweetheart, I-"

"Cause sometimes Daddy can'. He's gotta chase the bad guys and since you're not maybe you can do the things with me?"

Emily grins despite herself. With an argument like that, how is she supposed to refuse? "Okay, okay," she laughs. "Sure. I'd love to do some of the traditions with you."

"Yay!"

She hears the phone drop and winces. Then she waits, patient as ever and is rewarded when Hotch picks up the phone a few seconds later, greeting her in amusement.

"I'm glad he's excited," she says sincerely. "I wasn't totally sure it was the right gift."

"It's perfect," Hotch murmurs. "He missed you."

She blinks back tears. London certainly had it's hard days without them all to lean on. It's not the same. In fact, there are days where it's down right lonely.

"He's looking forward to it," he continues. "We both are."

The grin that stretches across her face makes her cheeks hurt. "Me too."


	4. December 3, 2013

On the third day of December, Jack's first day with the calendar, he opens the door on a little pair of skates. Emily knows because she gets what amounts to a frantic call from Hotch minutes before closing time. They've been called in for an emergency meeting with the section chief. She remembers those and doesn't envy him a bit for having to attend. What that means though, is that Jack cannot celebrate the little skates with his father.

Emily doesn't hesitate to step in. Of course she doesn't. It's Jack and the last thing he wants is to leave the kid without a tradition to celebrate. How is that going to give him faith in the fun of the calendar?

She figures it out with Will. The two of them bundle Henry into the car and head to Jack's after school program. Hotch has called ahead, but Emily still takes her ID. It's a good thing too since she gets asked for it three separate times before she even sets her eyes on Jack. Where it should be annoying, it's actually heartwarming. She's really glad Jack's so secure.

"Emily!"

She grins as Jack launches himself at her. "Hello, sweetheart."

"Where's Daddy?"

"At work," she says, putting on an exaggerated pout.

Jack nods solemnly. "Gotta catch the bad guys, Emily. But usually Aunt Jessica picks me up?"

"I know, but Daddy feels pretty bad that he's not going to be able to do your first tradition together, so I promised I'd come and get you to make sure we'd do it. Henry and Will are in the car; they're going to come with us. Is that okay?"

"We're going skating?" Jack asks, just a little breathless. His little face is eager and it makes Emily smile at the same time her heart eases.

"That's the plan. I don't think Will's ever been."

Jack's mouth drops open. "Never?"

Emily laughs as she tugs on his coat, making sure it's zipped snugly. Jack, bless his heart, doesn't even flinch. "He's from the south, remember? They don't get much snow or ice."

"Do you think he knows how?" Jack asks anxiously. "Only, maybe we should bring a chair? That's how I learned!"

She barely holds in the laugh as she pushes herself up. "How about we let Will decide? Maybe he doesn't want to skate and it'll just be you, me and Henry."

"That's okay too," Jack decides. Then he throws his arms around her hips. "Thank you for coming to get me."

She crouches down again. "Of course," she answers, making sure he meets her gaze. Just because she moved across the ocean doesn't mean she can't or won't be there for him. It's just harder. "Always."

* * *

Hotch is exhausted as he climbs out of the car at Pentagon Row. From her text, Emily had been hoping to take Jack to Canal Park, but a plumbing issue has set the ice back and delayed the opening. Hotch can sympathize. Canal Park is beautiful to skate in. But he also knows that it isn't going to matter to Jack.

She's surprisingly easy to find, considering the sheer number of people dancing around the ice this late at night. She's got Jack by the hand, letting him drag her as best he can – and pushing off every once in a while so they don't slow down the speed of the rink – around and around and around. It takes him longer to spot Will and Henry, whom he notices doing the same.

"Got them?"

It's JJ, a little out of breath as she jogs up beside him. He nods, pointing them out.

"God, they're cute," JJ murmurs.

He looks to her, but there's nothing knowing in her gaze, just a clear enjoyment and happiness. It hits him so hard, so suddenly, that they've all missed her. Terribly. Like a limb. The team is whole, Blake fits, but in that moment she's so obviously not Emily it's painful.

"Come on," JJ says, tugging on his sleeve and interrupting his thoughts. "Let's go get them some hot cocoa, yeah? They'll need it. Look how pink Em's cheeks are."

He'd noticed, thanks. The pink cheeks, the wide grin, the wild hair and he'd bet her eyes were sparkling too. Genuinely happy. He wants that all the time. He wants to be the cause of it.

He follows JJ to the nearby stand, listening as she hums along with the carols being piped through a tiny radio. She continues on for a few minutes before she turns to him with a little smirk in the corner of her mouth.

"I never got to ask how you felt about our surprise."

She's asking a question in a question and he can tell. "It's good to see her again."

"Mmhmm," JJ agrees, though her tone tells him that she's definitely reading into that. Except he couldn't be that obvious. Not possible. "You called her today."

"She offered," he replies. "She gave Jack an advent calendar and he pulled skates out of today's door."

JJ's eyes are sparkling as she interrupts with, "Made, Hotch. She made that calendar for Jack when she booked her ticket out here."

Made. She made that calendar for his little boy. It's such an Emily thing to do.

"She did tell you about her dad, right? He hand-made hers. Annually."

"And Henry's?"

JJ shakes her head. "For one thing, Henry's too young to really understand what it is. Plus, my mom got him one when he was a baby. Soft little pockets with a stuffed Christmas tree he moves every day. I told Em not to bother when she offered. Maybe another year."

Just Jack. Of course, her soft spot for Jack isn't a secret. She's made it entirely too obvious sometimes. She drops everything for Jack. She always has. He thinks maybe she always will.

They carry the cocoas back towards the rink in silence, and someone must have seen them because all four of them are seated on the concrete that serves as the edge of what would be a garden. It's a happy scene.

"Mommy!"

JJ weaves efficiently through the crowd, passing her cocoas off to Will easily, like they've done it a million times before. Consider what he can remember of raising Jack with Haley, he thinks maybe they have. Then Henry's wrapped up in her arms and she's cooing into his ear.

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy! Did you see me?"

Hotch, on the other hand, just barely manages to slide his to-go tray onto the concrete before Jack's launched himself from Emily's lap into his arms. Emily laughs and straightens the cocoas easily, so they don't spill. Her cheeks are still that happy flush and he'd been right, her eyes are sparkling as they watched father and son.

"He's good," Emily agrees. "He was pulling me around the rink at the end there."

"I saw," Hotch says warmly, making sure his eyes meet hers. He saw so many things in those few moments, few precious moments. Her cheeks go even pinker and against the curl of her hair brushing her cheeks and the white of her cap it's a stunning picture.

"Hotch?"

"Sorry," he says. He turns his gaze to Jack to make sure his thoughts aren't within her gaze. He doesn't need her to know. He doesn't need to burden her with that.

Her laughter is gentle. "One of these for me?"

"Yes," he answers. "What do you think, Buddy? You want some cocoa?"

Jack's eyes light up in excitement as Hotch settles on the cement between JJ and Emily, Jack on his lap. He can smell her, Emily that is, feel the brush of her hair against his arm and it takes way too much will power to keep from blurting everything out.

Instead, he swallows them down with a too hot sip of cocoa and tells himself it's the liquid, not the words burning in his chest.


	5. December 4, 2013

She whittles the day away.

There's not much she can do, not that she cares. The whole point of vacation is to relax, to do nothing. And she's reminded why, with a very distinct clarity, why she'd never taken these vacation days while she'd been in England.

Dear God, it's boring.

She all but leaps for her phone when it rings that evening and her eyes light up when it's Hotch's name on the display. She can't seem to help herself and it feels so much more acute this time around. "Hey."

"Hi. Jack and I are confused."

"Okay…"

"Your little family?"

The lightbulb goes on over her head and she laughs. Jack's calendar produced a tiny little caroling family for today's gift. "I'll make you a deal. Spring me from this boredom and I'll decipher Jack's gift."

He agrees easily and twenty minutes later is pulling up outside JJ's front door.

"Have fun!" the blond calls. "Remember your curfew."

She only offers a blinding smile when Emily glares.

"Hello, gentlemen," she greets, sliding into the passenger's seat of Hotch's SUV. "Closest Savers, please."

Hotch arches an eyebrow, but pulls smoothly into traffic. "You were bored?"

" _So_ bored," she agrees, bouncing her head against the back of the chair. "Hotch, you have no idea."

He laughs.

"Why are you bored? What is bored?

Ah, the innocence of youth, she thinks. "When you feel like you don't have anything to do."

"Like work? Cause you're on vacation?"

"Exactly." She grins at Jack in the rearview mirror. Instead of grinning back in the reflection, Jack's brow furrows.

"Are the bad guys getting away now?"

"Someone else is just taking my place for a bit. Same as Daddy," she explains. "We can't have all sorts of bad guys running around at Christmas."

"Speaking of," Hotch says. "Today's door?"

Emily's grin turns just a little bit evil. "Have you ever owned an ugly Christmas sweater?"

Hotch groans, entirely impulsively and reactionary. There are no barriers to this after-hours Hotch she's seeing and she is infinitely glad. At the same time, it is most definitely not doing wonders for her heart and emotions. In fact, it's killing her a little bit. But she swallows down the emotion. After all, she made a promise to Jack.

Savers is, on the outside, a massive warehouse. Inside, it's a second-hand clothing store. In Emily's experience, it is the best place to find hilarious and utterly atrocious sweaters. She and Reid had made a game out of it if they had time while away on cases. The genius has some absolutely horrid ones in his collection.

Emily looks at the store, the chaotic layout of things, and feels a little bit like a general leading her troops into battle. And it is, to a certain extent. There's so much stuff to weed through and a divide and conquer approach won't work with a child.

"So," she says, rubbing her hands together. "Where should we start?"

They start with Jack. It honestly makes sense. He doesn't have the patience and better to catch him before the kid gets tired. Savers is full of fantastic options, as Emily had known it would be. She and Jack flip through the options side by side, Hotch standing a few steps down the aisle. It makes Emily roll her eyes as she grips his hand.

"The fun's over here, Hotch," she says, winking at Jack just to see him giggle. Some things, despite time and events never change. In a strange way, it's comforting.

They find families of snowmen and gaudy reindeer pulling Santa's sleigh. They find sweaters in a rainbow of colours with giant Santa faces across the front of them. Candy canes, pompoms, the choices seem endless. It's Hotch that finds the perfect sweater. The thing is solid red, emblazoned with a giant rocking horse across the front. Emily outright gasps when she sees it and yanks it off the hanger. Jack, bless him, stands perfectly still while she pulls the abomination over his head.

Emily, the pro, takes all of five minutes to find hers. It's covered in red, white and green pompoms, obviously supposed to represent decorations on the tree that dominates the front. She immediately pulls it over her head with a grin.

"So?" she asks, arching an eyebrow.

Jack breaks into giggles immediately. Hotch arches an eyebrow but reaches out. Emily freezes. His hands slide along her neck, lifting her hair from the catch of the sweater. She shivers at the touch, looking up to meet his gaze. There's something there, in with the gratitude and amusement she can't quite make out.

"Perfect."

They're having a moment, she's pretty sure, and it's broken by Jack.

"Come on, Daddy. We have to find yours!"

There are so many options, so very many options. Emily bites her lip as she searches through the racks, trying to forget the feeling of his palms against her skin. God, this was a bad idea. But then she looks up, sees Hotch and Jack, heads bent together over a bunch of hangars. It makes her smile because this was the point, always the point. Jack and Hotch, celebrating Christmas. Traditions and memories and ugly Christmas sweaters.

"We found it," Jack exclaims, startling her from her thoughts. Her head comes up, surprise all over her face. Hotch is already pulling the sweater over his head, a smile on his face and those dimples that make him look about ten years younger. His sweater isn't ugly so much as tacky, but it still fits the bill. In fact, it takes the cake. It's plastered with Christmas themed things, cats hugging Christmas balls, snowflakes, garlands, candy canes and Christmas bells. It's almost a mess.

"Perfect," she agrees, echoing her own earlier sentiment. She sees that look flit over his face – longing? No way – and finds herself turning away with a blush.

The two of them are remarkably subdued as they wait to check out. Jack hops around their legs, perfectly entertained and grinning about his impending new sweater. He even pouts when they have to tug it over his head.

"Emily, why do we need Christmas sweaters?"

"Do we need a reason? It's Christmas!" she replies with a grin, taking his hand and leaving Hotch to get the bag as they wander back to the parking lot. But as Jack climbs into the backseat, Emily leans in. "Ask me tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Jack asks curious.

"Mmhmm," she agrees. "After you open the calendar door. "

They drive back to JJ's, singing along to the radio – Hotch included which takes her entirely by surprise – and she turns to him with a grin. He arches an eyebrow.

"So. Tomorrow?"

She pushes open the door with a nod. "Tomorrow."


	6. December 5, 2013

Turns out they wear their sweaters for caroling.

Emily comes to them this time, in a rented Prius – which he frowns upon because, really, there's no reason for her to do that – and drives the mere two blocks to a hole-in-the-wall community center. Hotch knows about it, of course. He's volunteered there once or twice with Jack and the center puts on a variety of kid-related things Jack loves.

He hadn't known about caroling. Turns out, they do it outside, in the back. Where there are usually basketball courts, there are chairs decorated with red and green bows, facing a very makeshift stage. Everything that can be draped with fairy lights is, which means they require no other source of light. They twinkle and shine and any other day Hotch would probably be worried about a fire hazard but Emily and Jack are so enamored by the whole thing that it doesn't even cross his mind.

She's wearing that damn white hat again, the one that brings out how dark her hair is, how dark her eyes are. She's flashing that sparkly-eyed grin at every one and Jack is beaming right along with her. They make such a picture that his heart actually aches.

God, this had been such a bad idea for his heart.

But he must be a glutton for punishment because as he watches her, watches them, he can't help the warmth in his stomach, the smile on his face. He feels lighter with her here, lighter because she is. He's never seen Jack so happy either. Apparently Emily Prentiss makes suckers out of the Hotchner men.

Everyone seems to know it too. JJ had been watching him with approval all day and both Morgan and Rossi had asked how Emily was doing. As if they didn't know and hadn't seen her a few days ago themselves. Sure, maybe he's monopolizing her time, but that's not actually an active thing on his part. On the contrary it's just… Kind of working out that way. The calendar, her calendar, the calendar she made for Jack, is making things turn out that way.

And he is definitely not arguing.

It's funny. He knows he missed her. He knows she's vital to the continuing function of his team – he isn't insane enough to think that the rest of them are as stupid as he is when it comes to keeping in touch with Emily. The thing is, he doesn't think he realized how much he missed her, how much she's almost like a vital limb until he's had her back.

"Hotch?"

He blinks, hoping the shock isn't on his face. She and Jack are both looking up at him expectantly, both holding letter-sized booklets. Lyrics, he realizes belatedly. Are they supposed to sing along too? He doesn't remember seeing that.

"Sorry, what?"

Emily smiles indulgently while Jack giggles.

"Here Daddy. Should we sit here?"

He can't figure out how this is a question. There's more than enough room for him, an elderly couple sitting at the end like the Christmas cliché, but Emily merely offers him a shrug. Because it's his son, Hotch makes a show of inspecting the seats. He solemnly sits on each one, wiggling just a bit, maybe bouncing to test them out. He even ducks down, pretending to use Jack's view point. The elderly couple watches him warily but he barely pays them any mind as he turns back to Jack and Emily. Jack's trying so hard not to laugh and Emily's got a hand over her mouth doing the same,

"Good choice, Jack," he finally decides, sitting right next to the old woman. He has no idea how many people show up to these things but he doesn't want to risk people crawling over him and Emily to get to empty seats. The elderly woman leans over and places her hand on his arm to get his attention.

"That's a beautiful family you have there," she tells him, turning and nodding to Jack and Emily, dark heads bent together giggling away. He's not sure he's ever seen so much giggling in his life. "You're a good father."

He merely offers a thank you in response, feeling his cheeks heat with the praise. What else can he say? Sure, he's not being totally honest but… what does it matter that they aren't all his family if it's what his heart wants?

It turns out there's a professional choir running the show and while the audience is encouraged to sing along, he's rather glad for the choir's leading voices. It's a beautiful scene, one he wishes he'd taken advantage of long before now. A community, together, taking time to enjoy the season and just sing. He's not particularly good, but he can hear Jack's little voice on some of the more mainstream songs and the emotion that rings in Emily's on the more traditional religious hymns.

It's one of those songs, those emotional religious hymns, where he finds himself reaching out and squeezing one of her mittened hands in her lap. She looks over, squeezing back. Her eyes are glossy with unshed tears. His hand moves of it's own volition – because he most certainly does not remember telling it to rise and cup her cheek – and he slides his thumb along her cheekbone.

And in that moment he wants this more than anything he's ever wanted. It calls to him, makes him yearn for it, and he finds himself leaning towards her, closer and closer. Her eyes flutter closed and he knows he's going to kiss her. And she's going to let him.

But then there's applause and he's startled from the moment, pulling away. Reality's settling in again and her big eyes are fluttering open now, blinking at him and blushing more profusely.

What has he done?


	7. December 6, 2013

It's a long day.

A very long day.

A no good, very long day.

When Hotch walks through the door of his apartment, grumpy Jack in tow – it seems a grumpy father does not a happy son make – he is absolutely and utterly done with his day. The only thing he wants to do is, well, nothing. A beer, maybe a movie. He'll even accept a movie of Jack's choosing just to placate his son and keep him from getting even grumpier.

Thing is, when he steps into the kitchen to inspect dinner options for the evening, he sees the bright silver Christmas ball sitting right where he and Jack left it that morning.

Crap.

This one, even Hotch can admit, is a little more obvious than some of her other gifts. It can only be one or two things, he thinks. Either they're decorating, or they're getting a tree. Considering the way the calendar's been going, Hotch's money's on the former. But the idea of decorating even a small corner of his apartment just does not appeal to him. Not even for the absolute and honest pleasure of Emily's company.

And no, for the record, he's not hiding. Not at all. And no, he did not dream an entirely different ending to their almost kiss the night before. He's not that kind of guy, thanks. He doesn't do the daydreaming, the fantasizing. He's not that fanciful.

Except he  _is_.

He should just call her. It's Emily. If anything, she's going to be incredibly understanding of his bad day and let him off the hook. She's that kind of person and she knows days in the BAU can be utterly brutal. But at the same time, he does not,  _does not_  want to risk things with her. He's screwed up last night, pushed where he shouldn't have whether she looked like she would have responded positively or not. Because it doesn't matter, nothing can come of it, not with his job and her job and her life across and  _ocean_. And he couldn't, wouldn't, would never even think of asking her to choose between him and her life on another continent.

Still, he thinks. The least he could do is call her.

"Hey."

A single syllable and he feels his shoulders slump. "Hey."

"That doesn't sound so good."

God, that's scary. "It's been a long day-"

"Oh. Oh Hotch."

"No." He's shaking his head. "No it's fine. You know how it is."

She hums her agreement and he's struck hard with the fact that she does, that she's been there. She knows some days are long, that some days are bad.

"Did Jack open his door?"

"He did. It's why I'm calling."

"Oh? Oh! Hotch, no. If you're not up to it we don't have to do anything. Really. I just wanted to know."

"Em-"

"It's not a calendar meant to be a burden," she goes on and he can tell she's ramping up for quite the rant. "It's just a fun thing, so if you can't, you can't. And it's decorating your apartment anyway, technically, which you guys can do whenever and I don't even have to do it with you. It's your calendar so-"

"Emily."

Silence reigns. He opens and closes his mouth a handful of times, of course, because it's not that he doesn't want to spend time with her. It's not that he doesn't want to see her. He just knows neither he nor Jack is fit for company and definitely not decorating.

"Can we switch?"

"What?"

Considering he hadn't even realized the words had come out of his mouth it takes his conscious brain a moment to catch up what is quite obviously his heart. But it's a thought that solidifies and he can't seem to let it go.

"Is there another door, another traditions we can switch?"

Because she's known every door so far, like she'd memorized it or chosen each one with particular care. He's starting to think that maybe she put too much time into it, considering. There's no way she'd be able to make two when Henry was old enough to enjoy it. Assuming she was going to do it every year of course.

And he's getting ahead of himself.

"There could be," she says slowly. "Can you get to the calendar without Jack noticing?"

Jack is nowhere to be found, not that Hotch is particularly worried. He'd bet his son is pouting and sulking in his room. The two of them are alike like that. "Yes."

"Check next week. Late. Like… the twelfth maybe? Maybe later. The fifteenth?"

He checks the twelfth first. The calendar itself is made of cardboard and he pops open the window easily. Re-useable. He likes that. The tiny present is not indicative of something low-key, he thinks. She agrees, swiftly and with a laugh. He tries the fifteenth next and laughs at the cartoon cookie he pulls from the window.

"That's not the one I'm thinking of either," she says with a bit of a huff. "Between them though, I think. What's the fourteenth?"

Santa.

That's a negative too.

"Thirteenth?"

That one holds promise. He pulls from the door a tiny little television.

"Yes! That's it. And you don't even need me for it. Father and son, nice and relaxing. Do you guys have any of the Christmas specials?"

Hotch wrinkles his brow. He doesn't think so. Honestly, by the time Jack was old enough to enjoy most of that stuff he spent so much time with his cousins or with Haley. And Haley hadn't had any of the videos.

"JJ's got them all," Emily tells him and he can almost picture the way she's waving her hand dismissively. "I'll run them over really quick. Jack doesn't even need to know I was there."

Because they both know the kid'll want her to stay. Which, Hotch knows, he cannot blame the kid for. As it stands, he can feel the words on the tip of his tongue himself. He has things to smooth over; things to make up for. And she's only here for so long. Regardless, he wants to make the most of his time with her. But he bites it back.

"Twenty minutes. Or so."

He starts to get worried around thirty, and by the time she hits forty-five with no message, he's well into panic. Then his phone buzzes and it's her and  _holy crap_.

He's pretty sure he flies down the stairs. "What the hell?!"

"Um. Hello to you too?"

"You said twenty minutes."

"Yeah. That didn't happen." Then she's pushing past him with way more bags than she should have for a handful of DVDs.

"Emily?"

She's called the elevator – which is kind of entertaining, he rarely uses the bloody thing – and looks a little sheepish when she turns back to him. "So, I know it's been a long day and all, but I figured you guys hadn't eaten either." Here, she holds up one of the bags and he can make out jarred sauce, maybe even pasta. "So I took the liberty of picking up some ingredients and I figured you could do your thing, Jack could do his, I'll cook and then you guys don't have to do anything, yeah?"

She looks nervous. Properly nervous. He does not find it adorable, because God knows he doesn't need to like anything else about her.

"I can get out of your hair right after that. Cross my heart."

Except now that she's here, now that she's coming up, now that she's going to cook for him, he most certainly doesn't want her to leave. His long day seems a little less long with her standing beside him. Or walking off the elevator in front of him, standing in front of his door…

Damnit.

Screw it.

"Stay."

"Hm?"

"Stay," he repeats, hand on the doorknob and key in the lock. Nothing for it now. He knows she heard him the first time. "We'll cook, we'll watch movies. Stay."

"Hotch-"

"Stay."

She's looking at him, staring at him really. He looks right back. He wants her here, it's that simple.

"Okay."

So they make dinner together – a simple spaghetti, nothing he hasn't made a hundred times – and Jack is ecstatic to see her. She even stands side-by-side with him to clean up, patient and hilarious and he thinks maybe his cheeks are starting to hurt.

It's different, he thinks, having her here as a real genuine friend and not as a co-worker. She's here because she wants to be and they don't have to go to work together in the morning. He doesn't have to watch her all day, he can just absorb the feeling of her in his space. She even sits beside him on the couch, lets Jack drape over her side.

They make it through Rudolph and the Grinch.

Not a single one of them realizes they're all asleep before the end of Frosty.


	8. December 7, 2013

She wakes slowly.

It's been a luxury if she's honest, something she really hasn't been doing in London. She's been better about it here in the States. She's on vacation, after all, and that requires lie ins and naps, doing nothing and lounging in her underwear. The latter of which, she does know and acknowledge, would be awkward in JJ's house and she has not done it, thanks. Still. The point.

She takes stock slowly too. Her side is crazy warm and her neck hurts. She's got a crick. Damnit. She hates when she sleeps on her neck funny. It bothers her for days. But then her eyes flutter open and she realizes that she is not in JJ's guest room and the reason her neck is so sore is because she's sleeping in the odd space between Hotch's shoulder and the back of the couch.

Hotch's shoulder.

Hotch's couch.

Holy crap.

She'd stayed the night. She's pretty sure he's not going to be mad at her for that. After all, he seems to have fallen asleep on the couch as well and Emily can vaguely remember having Jack there too. He's not, but there's a blanket tucked around her very carefully and since Hotch is still definitely out cold beneath her – and in his own awkward position – she thinks that maybe it's Jack's doing. That sweet little boy.

She doesn't want to wake Hotch. It's Saturday. No one has to be up and since his day before had been so long she wagers the sleep is doing him good. She knows he loses too much sleep as it is.

So she lets her mind wander, just a bit. There's been something different about Hotch, she thinks, now that she has the time. There's been something in the way she's seen him, in the way he's been interacting with her that's softer. She feels like he's not hiding with her, like he's not putting up that wall he oh-so-often had in place in the BAU. She feels like she's seeing a softer, warmer Hotch that she's only ever caught glimpses of before. But it's been consistent over the last couple of days.

And then, well.

Last night.

She doesn't know what happened. It must have been the carols, she thinks, the atmosphere with the choir and their utterly haunting finale of 'Silent Night'. Because she knows better than to think that Hotch would be leaning in, even with his hand on her cheek. And she has no idea what that was about either. Regardless, she shouldn't have pushed. She did, she knows. She leaned in and she was seeing things because he wasn't doing the same. Why would he? There's no way with the distance and her past and Doyle and everything he's seen of her that he'd want her like that.

And this. Well this was just fluke. Coincidence. Because they'd fallen asleep together. Well, not together, just on the same couch. At the same time, since she can remember Rudolph and the Grinch. Parts of Frosty too, she's pretty sure. But he must have fallen asleep first, without her noticing.

And Jack.

Where was Jack?

The little head in question pops around the corner of the hall and she offers him a gentle smile. "Hiya, Buddy," she whispers.

Jack pads through the living room, rubbing still sleepy eyes. "Hiya Emily. You slept here."

"I did. I fell asleep."

"We both did."

She's up like a shot – what the  _hell_  he'd been  _awake?!_  – and then is forced to get all the way up and make a run for the bathroom to cover it. Not that she's stupid enough to think that anyone's going to buy it, least of all Hotch, but she has to save her dignity somehow. And save herself from the really awkward questions. Because she's avoiding talking about it, any of it, because she just…

She wants to savour it.

Thankfully, Hotch and Jack are preoccupied in the kitchen when she emerges and Hotch even offers her a steaming mug from his single-cup maker the team had all gone in on to get him last Christmas. Faster, she thinks, than a pot, but he has one of those on too. Bless.

"Emily," Jack asks when he spots her, rolling a sparkling silver ball back and forth. "Are we going to do yesterday's thing today?"

Emily chews her lip as she glances to Hotch, but he seems to be letting her take the lead. "You could," she allows. "It's a good idea."

Jack's bright eyes turn to Hotch, who nods, slowly.

"We can do it today," he agrees. "Come on Jack. Let's show Emily our decorations."

She opens her mouth to tell him off, she does. She doesn't need to be here for this. They don't need her and she's already overstayed the welcome of a friend and they are  _not_  more, even though they had the Almost Kiss -

They have nothing. There's a garland that apparently goes around the window and some fairy lights, but she tells both the Hotchner men that on no uncertain terms was that to be considered good enough. So they go out. It's mayhem, of course, but Emily grins through it, Jack at her side and they drag Hotch along. He seems content enough to let her do the choosing and she does – within reason. It's not a spree, after all, but they need something a little more than a garland and lights to dress up the place for the holidays. She even manages to find vinyl window decorations and winks ridiculously when she drops a sprig of mistletoe into the cart.

Just in case, she says.

_Just in case the planets all align and we get caught under it. Or miracles happen and he even puts it up._

No. Constructive thoughts. Thoughts about happy Hotchners at Christmas, not about how Hotch's mouth would feel against hers, even for the split and courteous second it would take to fulfill the mistletoe tradition.

It takes them all afternoon to decorate. She thinks it's mostly Jack's fault – the kid is precise, terrifyingly so – but she's sure she and Hotch were a little picky as well. There's a wreath on the door and garlands around doors; even a string of Christmas lights carefully hung just under the counter in the kitchen. Actually, it looks a little like Santa's village tastefully threw up in the Hotchner apartment.

But it makes Emily proud.

So proud that she cannot, for the life of her, wipe the grin off her face, even as her heart sinks at the end of the day. She has to leave. It's time.

What's funny is that Hotch, very carefully, walks her to the door.

"It's ten feet Hotch," she says with a laugh.

And then he surprises the absolute hell out of her.

He catches her around the waist – and she did not squeak because that would be totally embarrassing – and pulls her in, cupping her head just before his mouth meets hers. She melts immediately, she can't avoid it. Her knees bend and he has to tighten his arm to hold her up. It only works so well though and she finds herself stumbling back, even as her mittened hands come up to his ears. Damn, but he's a good kisser.

His eyes are dark when they pull back for air. So dark. She has to force herself to swallow, even as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth.

"What was that?" she whispers.

He looks up, then back down at her. Her eyes flicker, follow his gaze.

Mistletoe.

He'd kissed her under mistletoe.

Holy crap.

"Good night, Emily."

That night, the low, rough quality of his voice is a prominent feature in her dreams.


	9. December 8, 2013

The next day, Emily makes a conscious decision to push Hotch from her mind. She's pushed it too far, she thinks, let him in too close considering when she leaves at the end of December she would most definitely like to leave with her heart in tact. Or at least in the same condition it had been when she'd arrived.

So she does other things. She goofs with JJ and Henry, goes grocery shopping with the whole family, just because. She's missed JJ a whole lot more too. As her only companion during those long lonely months of some weird WitSec hybrid, JJ had been the only one and she feels infinitely closer to the blond woman because of it.

"Okay, spill."

She'd zoned out. Entirely and completely from the way JJ's looking at her. They've taken Henry to a nearby park – and honestly, Emily's a little impressed with how far JJ's willing to let her son wander; it wasn't long ago the kid had been virtually kidnapped after all – and Emily had truthfully just needed a break. She'd had that, apparently, and then some.

"Em."

Emily puffs out a breath. She hates this. JJ's so earnest about things and Emily can feel the words actually crawling up her throat, like she's just going to spill them out over JJ's lap. She can't, she thinks, she cannot do that because then-

"Hotch kissed me."

JJ's eyes widen and her jaw actually drops. JJ's off-hours face is infinitely expressive.

"He what?"

"Kissed me."

"Out of the blue?"

"Under mistletoe."

"He has mistletoe?"

"And decorations. All over. We went shopping yesterday."

"For decorations."

"It's Jack's advent calendar."

Here, JJ nods her head solemnly, slowly, but Emily knows so much better. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Jayje."

It's the way she's fiddling with the lid of her take-away cup, Emily thinks. It gives JJ away completely.

"It feels like a big deal," JJ says eventually.

"It's not."

"He kissed you."

"Under mistletoe."

"You didn't see it. He could have ignored it."

That shuts Emily's mouth fast. She hadn't seen it, hadn't even known he'd hung it. JJ's right. He hadn't been forced to do it. She blows out a breath. "I can't."

"You  _can_ ," JJ argues. "You're here for what, twenty more days? Why don't you at least test it out?"

"I can't do that. That would be  _worse_."

JJ arches an eyebrow.

"Don't give me that look," Emily scolds. "Am I supposed to go home with a broken heart because we can't make the distance work? Because he can't risk Jack like that? And he never once tried to contact me while I was in England, can we remember that? He couldn't even make it work with Beth when she was in New York and London's an entire continent and  _time zones_ away."

"But this isn't Beth, Em. We're not talking about Beth, we're talking about  _you_. We're talking about the one person who was there after Haley, who pushed and pulled and made him come out of that shell he definitely would have fallen into and we both know it. He could have so easily hidden in work but you made him see that he had Jack, that this was his chance and you dragged him out and he  _needed_ that.

"When you were killed, that was hard. For all of us, but him especially. He took a special task force. He always made time for you, he always worked with you, when your friend was killed, he should have told you it wasn't our case but he didn't because  _it was you_."

"JJ, come on," Emily says, even though she knows she's blushing. "Don't-"

JJ actually groans. "Fine. Fine. Live in your little world of delusion. But when I'm right, you owe me."

. . . . .

Maybe it hadn't been JJ's goal, but Emily thinks about it for the rest of the day. She plays nice with Will and Henry, even JJ, but when the time comes for them all to go about their evenings, she retires to JJ's guest room. Alone.

She has every intention of basically wallowing. It's happened more often than not since her return to the real world. She needs time where she can just sit, allow herself to feel the emotions she's shoved down so deep. Thing is, these aren't emotions she's accepting. Everything she's ever felt about Hotch that had not been professional has been shoved down so hard and so deep in her that she's never allowed herself to do this over him.

JJ hadn't given her a choice.

She groans when her phone rings, interrupting what is turning into quite the good wallow –she's not far from tissues which is always a good purging emotion sign. Thing is, it's Hotch's name on her display and she considers ignoring it, even has her thumb over the button. She's not sure what changes her mind, but she does, at the last second.

"Hi."

"Hi," he greets. His voice is low. "I-"

She waits because she has no idea what to say to him. She doesn't even know where to start. All she knows is that it's the same voice he'd said 'good night' in last night and she's being transported to warm lips, strong arms and the feeling of the wall against her back.

"We did the book without you," he says, as if he's just decided to dive right in. It's probably not a far cry from the truth. "Space seemed… good."

He's right. Totally right and she knows she doesn't have to tell him. It's another nail in her coffin really because it's just more evidence of how well he knows her, that he's almost treading with soft feet around her. But it's her chance and she knows it, so with a pounding heart, she says, "Hotch, you kissed me."

She actually hears his intake of breath before he replies. "I did."

"Under mistletoe."

She's surprised by what comes down the line next: "Seemed like a good enough excuse."

"Pardon?" Oh crap. She's breathless and she hates that. She hates giving herself away. She hates that she can't seem to stop it when it's Hotch.

"You're only here for twenty-five days, Emily. We only have you for twenty-five days.

She swallows. She wants to say a million things. She wants to tell him that she'll stay longer, that England's not the same without him, that he has absolutely terrible timing because she still has to go back and he and Jack need someone way more stable that doesn't live infinitely further than his last relationship.

"And I wanted to," she hears him say, even over her screaming thoughts. "Of course I took the chance."

She's never, ever, thought him the type to do that. Not personally. Even though he'd told her once he'd auditioned for a play to get to Haley. But not for her. Why her? Never her.

"But. The ball's in your court."

"What?"

"It's your choice," he tells her. "I kissed you because I wanted to and because there was mistletoe. Because I'm tired of losing you, of watching you walk away without taking the chance. But what happens next, whatever happens next, that's up to you."

What?

"What do you want, Emily?"

A whole lot of things, but the first thing she wants is for this conversation to make sense. And for that, she needs-

"Time," she blurts. "I want- I need-"

"Okay," he interrupts, his voice calming. It's a good thing too since her heart is totally jack-rabbiting in her chest.

"Your choice," he reminds her. "You know where I am. Goodnight, Emily."

It isn't until she's dropped her phone to the bed that she really feels like she starts breathing again. Everything is in front of her now, the choice she never ever thought she'd be given the opportunity to make and it's right in front of her.

And she has no idea what to choose.


	10. December 9, 2013

The thing about leaving the decision in Emily's hands is that he feels like he's itching just under his skin all day. To the point where it's distracting and he doesn't feel like he's gotten any work done. What makes it worse is that the day's a slow one. Well, it certainly feels slow, at least. Because he wants an answer from her.

If he's honest, he's not entirely sure what the straw had been. He has no idea what it is, exactly that had him moving in to kiss her under the mistletoe, nor yesterday, when he'd been so very up front with her. He'd definitely never anticipated even making a decision to try with her, not with her so far away.

But it's  _Emily_.

And she's been  _right there._

If Haley's death had taught him anything it was to seize the moment. Cliché, of course, but that didn't make the theory any less true. On the contrary, it had only solidified it. Made it more important. Especially now, face with Emily, face with the distance, the movement and he cannot let her just walk away again. Not this time. Not like he'd done before. If he let her walk without telling her, without letting her know that there's a whole lot more at play for him, he thinks that maybe he'll never see her again, Jack or no Jack.

He'd taken a chance.

And all he wants to know is if it's a chance that will pay off.

Thing is, he'd promised not to push. He'd promised to give her time, like she'd asked for; space, like she'd asked for and he cannot go back on that now. Not if he really wants her. Because if he really wants her, he has to let her come to him.

The tentative knock makes his head shoot up. It would be embarrassing, maybe amusing if it had been or JJ at the door, but the woman standing there isn't part of his team anymore.

"Emily."

"Hotch."

Her fingers are playing with something, a candy cane he realizes at the same time she does.

"Oh, it's yours. Jack pulled a little one out of his calendar and when I said I used to bring them for you guys, he wanted to do it. He's, um, down in the bullpen."

He's safe there, Hotch things, and it gives him a moment for this. A moment for her. He comes around his desk and towards her, honestly glad his blinds are already closed – no one needs to see how absolutely scattered he's been over her. Still, he stops dead about a foot in front of her, fingers twitching. He cannot cross that line, not without her.

Her heart leaps when she reaches over to push the door closed, chewing her lip. "Hotch, it's insane."

"Is it?" he finds himself asking. He actually has to slide his hands into his pockets.

"Of course it is. Hotch, I don't even live here. I'm here for a month and then I go back  _across an ocean_. That's- That makes it insane."

"What was insane was letting you go the first time."

That startles her, he can tell, and he's been reading her for years. He sees the tentative hope in her eyes too, a fragile light.

"First time?"

"You died."

She sucks in a breath.

"We had to let you go. JJ and I made every decision to keep you safe. But then you were back. You were back, you were here and it-"

She swallows, but that light is still in her eyes. "You had Beth."

"I couldn't have you."

Fraternization, team dynamics, abject fear of rejection and breaking something as precious as their friendship. She understands, of course.

"And now I'm not on your team. I'm not part of the Bureau."

She murmurs it and this time he cannot stop from reaching out, from ghosting his fingers down her bicep.

"I'm five time zones away."

"And insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result."

A smile flits over her face. "Albert Einstein."

"I'm not repeating the same thing again.

He sees her throat flex again and he gets the sinking feeling she's still going to say 'no'.

"Christmas," he blurts before she can. "Give me until Christmas."

"For what?"

"To show you I'm willing to make it work."

Because he can see the want in her eyes and this time he absolutely refuses to just let her go.

"Okay," she whispers. "Christmas."

"And then we re-evaluate," he says, feeling his heart rate jump. He can't stop himself from actually taking her hands this time. "Until Christmas and then-"

"Just- Just one thing at a time," she urges him, even as she squeezes his hand. Then she shakes her head. "You're insane."

Yeah. About her.

And maybe by Christmas he'll be able to tell her.


	11. December 10, 2013

It doesn't start until late.

She's over at Hotch's place – Jessica's taken Jack – and it is, she knows, their first date. It is so low key should would be worried about a type of intimacy she isn't ready for, but this is Hotch and she knows better. Plus, it's sweet, she thinks. She's glad, honestly. There's no pressure on him to meet a reservation and it feels so much more comfortable without the extra eyes around them.

They'd made dinner together, side-by-side, laughing and easy. Even dinner, they'd sat side-by-side again rather than across the table, stealing off each other's plates, even though they have the same meal. She's not self-conscious and there is a huge part of the night that doesn't feel any different. She is strangely glad for it. They'd even don dishes together. If the relationship he seems to want so badly is going to be this easy, she can't see a reason to say no.

But she's getting extremely ahead of herself.

He's kicked her out of the kitchen while he gets coffee and dessert and that's when she sees it out the window.

It's snowing.

He finds her at the window, already breathless. "Emily?"

"It's snowing," she says breathlessly. "It's been snowing."

And that's the truth. She estimates it's a couple of feet while they'd been eating and cooking. She's surprised, honestly, because she usually has a nose for these things. She's always had a nose for snow. She thinks it's entirely possible that's she's been more than a little distracted.

She hears the quiet sound of a mug by her hand, then the heat of his fingers against the bottom of her spine. He's been touching her all evening, no boundaries. Right now, she needs it. She's getting entirely too emotional. It's just, she loves the first snow.

"It's beautiful," he agrees softly.

This time there's no Jack to stop their moment and Hotch gets his fingers under her chin to turn her head. She turns with the touch and meets his mouth willingly. She feels the shiver driving up her spine and leans into the kiss. Eventually though, the shivers and excitement about the snow overtakes the excitement of him.

"Come on," she says, still unable to resist the urge to lick her lips to catch the lingering taste of him. "Let's go."

"What?"

But she's already slipping out of his embrace, and heading towards the front door. She's got her coat half way on before she turns back to see the confusion on his face. She laughs, eyes bright. "Get your coat, Aaron."

His given name feels foreign on her tongue, but she feels a shiver drill down her spine. There's an intimate pleasure in his given name, one that makes her breathless.

"Outside?"

"Yes, outside," she says on a laugh. "It's snowing."

"And you like the snow."

She rolls her eyes but holds out a hand. "Want to see why?"

He doesn't make quick work of his coat or boots but he doesn't argue either. He even reaches for her hand as they leave and she almost skips down the stairs in her excitement for the snow and the feeling of his fingers between his. But she stops absolutely dead the minute she steps out of the building's front door.

It's the hush she likes. There's something absolutely magical about the first snow, especially at night. She steps out, tentative and almost nervous. She also doesn't like disturbing it. The snow is still falling softly, not a blizzard but drifting in thick, wet flakes. Her shoes crunch in the snow. There are no footprints beside hers but it's not exactly a high-traffic building. He'd picked it especially for the abundance of elderly couples and their historically and stereotypically nosy dispositions.

"See?" she whispers, her fingers slipping from his so she can pull her mittens from her pockets. She slides them on, her grin wide enough to make her cheeks hurt. "It's so beautiful."

Except when she turns back, he's not looking at the snow and her cheeks flush. That heated intense gaze is fixed on her, she can see it from the couple of steps she's taken away from him. They're on a date, she knows, but it doesn't take away from the breathtaking way he's looking at her.  _Her_. How many years had she waited for this, hoped for it, and now it's here and she cannot believe it's real.

He comes for her like a predator, but she most definitely isn't running. In fact, she all but collapses into him as his arm wraps around her waist. The other delves into hair she'd very carefully curled for the evening. His mouth is hot and hard, demanding and he holds her tight. Not that she's exactly running for the hills. Her mittened hands come up to his cheeks, cupping his face.

As if she needs another reason to love the first snow.


	12. December 11, 2013

Dave inadvertently plays into her hands with the next door in Jack's calendar. On the day Jack is supposed to find a music note, Dave personally calls her to deliver the news.

"Good morning sunshine," she greets and she wants to kill him. She really does.

"It's early," she groans. "This had better be good."

"It's almost eleven."

Emily all but yanks her head from the pillow. "Liar."

Unfortunately for her, the clock says he's right. Holy crap. She cannot remember the last time she's slept this late. She groans.

"Late night?"

God, she hates the amusement in his voice. She hates him right now. "What's it to you, Rossi?"

"Whoa tetchy," Dave answers easily. "None of my business-"

"Exactly."

"Except Hotch has looked pretty exhausted all day. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

She buries her face in her pillow to muffle the ensuing groan but from Dave's chuckle floating over the phone, it's a failure.

"It's a good thing," he says, approval warming to the slow rhythm of his speech.

"You did not call this early to taunt me-"

"It is a pleasant side-effect."

"So what do you want?"

"I have tickets."

Emily sits up, running a hand through her bedhead. Eleven is too late for her to be in bed. "I don't do burlesque shows or strip clubs, Dave. Try Morgan."

"To the ballet, sassypants."

"Since when do you like the ballet?"

"I am a man that likes the finer cultural arts, Emily Prentiss."

There's a smile twitching on her face as she asks, "Which wife?"

He huffs and there's an ache in her chest at the easy sparring. She'd made the decision she'd had to make for her own personal wellbeing – she'd needed to leave DC after the whole debacle with Ian Doyle – but she had never, in a million years, expected the ache she's been experiencing now that she's back in the city.

"Carolyn," he answers softly.

She makes a sympathetic noise.

"Coincidentally, she's also the reason I can enjoy art galleries and museums now."

She smiles. "So, the ballet. You don't have to get expensive tickets just to take me out, Dave."

"Then I'm glad I bought a dozen."

"Twelve? What the hell are you doing to do with twelve ballet tickets?"

"Call it team building."

"I'm sorry?"

"It's the Nutcracker, the one the Washington Ballet does every year. The whole team is going."

"Reid is going to a ballet? Scratch that, Derek?"

"Never underestimate the power of Penelope Garcia. He's bringing his girlfriend."

She's pretty sure she can feel her jaw brushing the bedspread. "Girlfriend? How long have I been gone?"

"Too long."

It's a moment of serious silence and she chews her lip through it. It's just long enough to have her heart clenching in her chest, to feel the guilt rising up into her mouth. But then he's clearing his throat. "Clean yourself up, Prentiss. We're painting the town red tonight."

* * *

They are the best dressed people in the theatre.

Not that Emily particularly cares either way. Her immersion into this type of culture has always involved fancy dress. The team doesn't seem to care either because it's an excuse to dress up and go out. Even if the party is a kid-friendly ballet rather than something adult-focused.

But there is one major difference between this time and the million others they've been out as a team. And it's not Blake's presence either.

Hotch is touching her.

It sounds both ridiculous and dirty and she means neither of those definitions. It's just a bit strange because these are after-hours touches. Not the triple-x kind, but his hand rubs up her back, slides down her arm, hovers around her waist, and while it honestly doesn't seem to change anything about the way the team interacts with them, she can feel the way their eyes are drawn to these things. Hell, she can all but hear the questions Penelope would like to spew.

But it's Dave who manages to corner her at the concession stand where she waits for an ice cream to split with Jack.

"So I was right?"

Emily hums her acknowledgement of his presence.

"You're the reason Hotch looked like death this morning."

She merely arches an eyebrow. She and Hotch haven't talked about whom they're telling about this 'test' of theirs and she isn't about to give Dave gossip fodder now. Even out of the Bureau and out of the world of politics, old habits died hard. So she doesn't answer his question, just calmly pays the cashier and takes the treat.

"Hey," Dave says, catching her elbow gently. "I was serious on the phone, Em. It's a  _good_  thing."

"Is it?" she finds herself blurting. "I waffle between being baffled and being terrified. I'm on a countdown and that's no way to start a relationship."

"So you'd rather dance around it all for the next couple of weeks pretending that those kinds of feelings aren't between the two of you? What was it you told me again when Carolyn first contacted me?"

She feels a soft smile spread across her face. "Considering it was after I died, I'm pretty sure it was something about taking the chance."

This time, it's Dave's turn to hum his acknowledgement. "Taking chances. Sounds like you. And you never know, do you?"

She looks up into his smug face and rolls her eyes. "You get so smug when you're right."

"I know," he agrees. "It's part of my charm."


	13. December 12, 2013

He leaves the office early. It's not an unheard of thing – just a month ago he'd left at lunch to take Jack to an appointment – but it is rare enough that Rossi gives him a funny look and Reid looks surprised. It's also the first time in a long time he's really felt like there's a reason to leave early. Not that his son isn't a reason, but Hotch firmly believes that the afterschool program does good things for Jack and his socialization.

Emily had called at lunch time. Honestly, he's getting the feeling that Emily has Jack's every calendar gift memorized, because she'd asked outright how Jack had enjoyed the little gift box she'd placed behind today's door. As if he needed a more obvious reason to pursue Emily Prentiss.

Turns out she'd had a plan. A shopping plan.

"I didn't bring anything with me," she'd argued on the phone. "It didn't make sense and I can't be here for Christmas and  _not_  give gifts. That's just rude."

She's actually a very focused shopper. It's not something he would have expected given her intensely passionate love of shoe stores, but Emily on a mission is a sight to behold. And Jack is right there with her, seriously contemplating every single selection Emily makes, debating with her about whether so-and-so would like this gift or that gift. It's an endearing sight, for sure.

Thing is, right as they're paying for dinner, Hotch's phone chimes and since Emily is sitting right next to him, he knows it doesn't bode well. And he's right. From what he can gather from Garcia's coded message, a serial rapist they've been tracking in Ohio has just graduated to murder.

"I'll call Jessica in the car," he murmurs as they pack up their things. Even Jack's subdued now and he hates that. From the way Emily keeps glancing at his kid, she's not exactly happy about it either. But there's nothing he can do and both Emily and Jack know that. Except Emily's also chewing her lip and he knows she's got something in her head.

He's dialing Jessica's number when she blurts, "Why don't I take him?"

"What?"

She's still chewing her lip, but it's out of nerves now. "Look, I- I promised him we'd do traditions. For one thing. And you'd have to drop me off, then go home and get his stuff and drop him off, plus your car and-"

He reaches out to put a hand on her knee. She's rambling. She never rambles. Ever.

She sucks in a deep breath. "I can take him," she says, this time softly. Jack's looking out the window, but the way her eyes keep flicking back tells him that maybe she doesn't want Jack overhearing anything.

"I can't ask you to do that."

"You're not," she says with a little chuckle. "It gives us the chance to do more of the holiday things. And face it, Aaron, during the day I don't do much."

"You're supposed to be relaxing."

"And I will be. Jack is relaxing."

"Emily-"

"Aaron."

God, he hadn't noticed that before, the way she says his name that tells him he's being ridiculous. But it's his kid and they're… well they're whatever they are now and it feels different. It does. He doesn't want it to – because it won't be the first time she's been an impromptu babysitter – but it does.

"It makes more sense and you know it."

He does. God, that's annoying. He shouldn't be holding back because they're Whatever. He wouldn't have hesitated before. "Okay."

Oh, that's worth it. Her eyes light up and the smile spreads over her face. She's excited, genuinely excited to spend time with his son.

"Hey Jack-Jack."

His little morose face turns to Emily, Hotch can see it in the rearview mirror.

"Let's have a sleepover."

His little face lights up and he grins so wide that Hotch finds himself feeling a little less guilty about having to leave in the middle of the holiday season.

"Daddy, can we Daddy? Can Emily and I have a sleepover?"

Oh yeah, they'll be just fine.


	14. December 13, 2013

She had not thought this 'sleepover' thing through.

Of course, this isn't the first night she's realized it. When she'd put Jack to bed – which had taken a  _while_ , probably too long for a school night – and started her own bedtime routine she'd been confronted with something that had not dawned on her.

Staying at Hotch's place meant staying in Hotch's bed.

Well, okay, she could sleep on the couch. It was a possibility, for sure. But not only did she figure it would be weird for Jack, but it would have been weird for her too. Why would she sleep on the couch when there's a perfectly good bed down the hall? Except that perfectly good bed is almost sinful and smells like Hotch. She's having a bit of trouble.

He'd basically given her everything when they'd hit Quantico: his keys, his car, his apartment and told her to keep track of everything she buys while Jack's in her care. She'd scoffed at the last one, though not out loud. What if she ends up spoiling the kid and bringing him candy every day? That shouldn't be Hotch's problem, she doesn't think. If she wants to spoil the adorable little boy she hasn't seen in over a year, she's damn well going to.

Aside from what she's already doing with the advent calendar.

Needless to say, it had taken her a while to fall asleep herself.

When she'd offered to take Jack, it hadn't felt different. It had, quite honestly, just made sense to her. When the call had come in her thoughts had immediately gone to the Christmas traditions, to all the things she and Jack weren't going to be able to do so long as he was at Jessica's. It just wouldn't seem right to her. Sure, she and Jessica knew each other, but Emily thinks it would feel like an intrusion to be calling the woman asking to take Jack.

But now, here in his apartment, just her and his son, she feels the difference.

Which, she reflects, is a little bit stupid. They've been, she hesitates to call it dating but that's pretty much what it is. Regardless, they've been doing it. Wednesday, yesterday, it had been easy, but suddenly, in an empty bed with his son down the hall, it doesn't feel so easy. Maybe it's the distance giving her the necessary time to remind her that she isn't worth it, isn't worth this. Between the two of them they're a mess of issues and it can only be simple for so long, she knows that. Sometimes it's the job, sometimes it's just personalities.

And neither of them are people that open up. She's just always been alone, aloof and she's learned the hard way that if she stays that way, if she doesn't let people in, then she doesn't get hurt. Hadn't it been reaffirmed when Doyle had hunted her down? Because undercover or not there were definitely aspects of Lauren that were her and she'd had to let him in, had to fall in love. It was her job. And it had messed her up. And Hotch's Doyle had been Foyet, his reminder that making yourself vulnerable meant losing those people. It was the nature of what they did and by loving, they put people in danger.

She doesn't want to put more pressure on him. It's the last thing she wants. And she doesn't want to be the one to finally destroy him.

"Emily?"

She lifts her head from the pillow to find little Jack silhouetted in the doorway. "Buddy, it's late."

He rubs at his eyes with two small fists. He'd done much better tonight with the whole going to bed thing. They'd decorated a bunch of candy canes that he could take into school on Monday with antlers, red noses and googly eyes, she'd put him in the bath, then bed with a book. Seamless, normal routine.

"I had a bad dream."

She blows out a silent breath because, well, her thoughts don't bode well for good dreams either. "Come here, honey."

He races to her this time, even goes as far as to bounce on the bed as he crawls up to snuggle down next to her.

"Was it Daddy?"

He buries his head by her neck and cuddles in close. She takes that as 'yes' and sighs. Usually, she thinks, she'd tell him a story, maybe take him back to bed and read something happy, but if she's honest, she just does not feel like it. She wants to snuggle with him, wants to give herself better, happier thoughts and she wants to infuse that in him.

And then it hits her.

"Come on."

Jack looks up at her in confusion.

"We need every blanket, and every pillow. Meet me on the couch."

His eyes do light up, still not totally sure what they were going to do, but willing to follow along. And ten minutes later, she has his little body snuggled up next to hers. She's already got the DVD prepared and when he finishes fidgeting she points the remote at the television.

" _Every who down in Whoville liked Christmas a lot. But the Grinch, who lived just north of Whoville, did not."_


	15. December 15, 2013

Jack doesn't like waking up.

He likes being up. He likes doing things. There's fun in the daytime, not the sleep time. There's Christmas and toys and books and games and other kids. And there's been Emily. Jack likes Emily. A lot. He's missed her. She moved  _so far_  and it's not always fun. But she's here and it's so fun now.

It's the sun that makes him up though. The sun doesn't usually wake him up. He's warm and cuddled close and while it's not Daddy's smell it's a good smell. He likes the smell. So he does what any little kid is going to do and turns into it. He cuddles closer, burying his nose in soft flannel and the scratchy wool blanket Granny made him. Jack doesn't mind the scratch.

"Morning, Buddy."

Her voice is scratchy and while he's awake, he doesn't want to be, so it takes him a bit to remember that it's Emily.

Emily is here.

His head comes up, a smile already on his sleepy face. She looks like she just woke up too. "Hi."

Her fingers start scratching at his back over his shirt and he cuddles closer. He does not want to get up yet. He wants to stay here.

"No more nightmares?"

He shakes his head into her shirt, his arms wrapping tighter around her. She laughs a little, but it doesn't sound mean, so he just keeps cuddling.

"So I had an idea," Emily says eventually. Jack isn't sure he wants to move yet, but he is also curious enough that he wants to know what she's talking about.

"Your present today is a little Santa."

How does she know his presents?!

"So, I was thinking maybe we could go and see Santa, maybe at the mall."

He lifts his head. Her face is nice, happy and it makes Jack smile too. "Santa?"

"Mmhmm. Do you remember going to see Santa at the mall? You sit on his lap?"

"That's not Santa," Jack says with a giggle. "Santa doesn't have time!"

She tickles him, just a little, but since she's grinning he finds that he can't be mad at her. He doesn't like being tickled.

"Santa sends messengers that dress up like him so the little kids learn to believe that Santa's real," she says. "So, should we go visit the Santa messenger?"

He chews his lip for a moment. He didn't write Santa this year. He's too old, he thinks. But, he's also been really busy with Emily and so he hasn't really thought about it much. She's brought it up though and he wonders if maybe Santa can give him the one thing he's discovering he really wants. And he knows that Daddy can't get it for him and it really isn't something that fits under the tree.

So he agrees, and they make breakfast together first. Emily's fun in the kitchen, and fun when they clean up the blankets. He doesn't miss Daddy so much with Emily here. She's fun and she's happy and she hugs him all the time. He's even patient when they're waiting in line for the not-real Santa because Emily's there with him. She answers all his questions, plays all his games and swings his hand in hers.

And then it's his turn. She stands back, which he's happy about. He doesn't want her to hear his Christmas wish.

"Hello Jack!"

He's smart enough to know that the elf asked his name and told Santa, but it doesn't matter. "Hi Mister."

"What would you like for Christmas?"

Jack's glad 'Santa' doesn't ask too many questions. He's here for one thing and one thing only and that's to ask for his Christmas wish.

"I want Emily to move home," he says it in a low voice, doesn't want Emily overhearing.

'Santa' looks confused. "Your mom?"

"No, my mom lives with the angels. That's Emily. And I want her to move home."

"Where is she now?"

"A long way away. She moved away because of a bad man. But George was a bad man and Daddy didn't move away after that because I'm here. And I want Emily to come home because the bad guy isn't here anymore."

'Santa' blinks at him, definitely confused. But Jack has his serious face on and he knows that people get that this is a big deal. It's important.

"You need to tell Santa that Emily needs to move home."

The man opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, but Jack is stubborn and adamant. He sits there, staring him down.

"I'm not sure what Santa can do," the man says finally and his face says that the man doesn't quite understand what he's asking. "I will pass on the message though."

"Do you promise? Pinky promise?"

Aunt Penelope says you can't break a pinky promise ever. But 'Santa' links pinkies with Jack and nods solemnly.

"I'll see what we can do."

Then Jack flashes the man a smile and sits happily for the camera before he takes Emily's hand again. There are a lot of people in the mall today and it makes Jack a little nervous.

"What did you ask Santa for?" she asks when they're a few steps away.

"I can't tell you, 'cause it's a wish, and if I tell you it won't come true," he explains, but then he grins. "The best Christmas present ever."


	16. December 15, 2013

It's a fast-paced case.

Generally speaking, Hotch prefers them. It usually means better cops, better resources, and more importantly, less time away from home. It's generally how it works anyway. The downside is that he very rarely even gets five minutes to call home. Jack's used to it, he knows, and Jack gets pretty wrapped up in his kid stuff. Kid's got his intensity, people tell him. This time though, it's not just about Jack.

Originally, having Emily stay at his place had been a stroke of genius. It didn't make sense for her to stay at JJ's when she was taking care of his son. What he hadn't anticipated was falling asleep the previous night with the knowledge that while his bed smelled starchy and was intensely empty, she was at his apartment, in his bed – probably because she's practical and he doesn't think she'd voluntarily choose to sleep on the couch. He'd been up half the night wondering if his bed would smell like her when he finally got home.

"Got something?"

It's JJ stepping up beside him and he glances over at her. She shrugs.

"You've been staring at that picture of Alissa Davenport for twenty minutes."

Twenty minutes. He'd been out of it for twenty minutes because he certainly hadn't realized he'd been staring at their victim's picture. It's not like him, he knows. He knows that answering her in the negative will make her suspicious.

Rock, meet hard place.

JJ's eyebrow rises and he knows he's caught. He knows it.

"No," he says, and his voice comes out neutral. "Nothing."

It's the right answer because JJ blows her hair out of her face. "Story of the day. I just want to go home and cuddle my son."

Hotch offers her a tight smile. He can get behind that idea, definitely. Though he definitely wants to cuddle more than just his son. When he looks over to JJ there's a spark in her eye. Yeah, she knows. He knows she knows.

"When was the last time you called home?"

She means Jack, but she also means Emily. They both know that. "I haven't."

When he hasn't been working he's been passed out. They've been on the go the whole time and he hasn't taken time or made time to call. The faster they get this case solved, the faster he's home with them anyway.

"Take five minutes, Hotch," she tells him. He's worked with JJ long enough to understand what she says when she's not saying anything. And she's doing it now, her eyes watching him. They're warm, but careful, like she knows this is new and she doesn't want to overstep bounds.

And before he really knows it, he's reaching for the phone.

. . . . .

"Emily it's Daddy!"

Emily sighs, looking around the hell that is the Hotchner kitchen. Apparently somewhere along the line she'd forgotten just how messy baking with kids can be. The counter is covered in flour, both deliberately and accidentally, and the floor isn't much better off. There's sugar mixed in, both white and brown and she's pretty sure she's stepping on a chocolate chip every time she shifts to the left.

Quite obviously, they're baking. Jack had pulled a cartoon cookie out of his calendar this morning, looked up at her and she'd known. It's been chaos. After scouring the cupboards and finding the Hotchners woefully unprepared for a baking day, Emily had bundled Jack into the car and they'd hit the supermarket. It hadn't been a tough run, Jack's not that kid, and they'd packed it all in the car without incident. They haven't even had much trouble with the baking itself. A couple of internet recipes, an enthusiastic helper… They've got chocolate chip and some gingerbread men. She thinks maybe she'll see if Jack wants to take them to the BAU when the return.

"Baking, Daddy!"

Oh. He'd actually answered the phone. Huh. Well, she guesses, it's not that hard these days and he'd recognized the name. Or maybe the face, a rare moment of grinning relaxation. She remembers that face well.

"Uh huh. Chocolate and the gingerbread men. Emily says we can even build a house!"

Right. She'd said that hadn't she? They were going to build a gingerbread house. Maybe. If she can find a recipe for some good cement icing. The stuff they've been using on the gingerbread men will not suffice, she knows that.

She hears Jack's little giggle, then he's scampering back into the kitchen. His eyes widen comically when he catches sight of her and their mess.

"Emily!"

She laughs then, wiping her hands on a dishtowel and holding her hand out for the phone. He hands it over willingly and she's still laughing a little as she presses it to her ear. "Hey you."

"Hi," he says, sounding a little suspicious. "Everything okay there?"

"Fantastic," she promises. "Baking's getting a little out of hand."

"The flour?"

"Yeah."

"He's used to premade."

She gasps. Actually gasps.

"What?"

"Premade cookies? You guys make premade cookies?"

"Sometimes." He sounds wary, but she's already too indignant to hear it.

"You cannot make premade cookies. What is that? Where's the fun in that?"

"It keeps the floor clean. And the counters. And us."

"So? You don't get to squish your fingers in the dough, or watch it actually take shape. Or learn that you probably should eat the butter-sugar base mixture."

"Did he?"

"Yes," she says, smiling and ruffling Jack's hair when he makes a 'yucky' face at her. "And I don't think he'll do it again."

Jack shakes his head vehemently. That had not been a pleasant experience, even as they'd both laughed afterwards. She hears Hotch sigh and her smile dims a little. She presses her hand over the phone.

"Hey, Buddy let's take a break, yeah? Want the Grinch?"

Jack ponders this for a moment. "Frosty."

"You got it."

Actually, Jack can do it all himself, so Emily takes the opportunity to pop back into Hotch's bedroom. Privacy.

"Everything okay?"

He's still there, on the other end of the phone, and she thinks maybe he knew exactly what was going on.

"I don't want to be here," he says candidly.

Her heart clenches just a bit. "That bad?"

"No worse than things we've seen before."

They've probably seen worse, actually.

He sighs again. "You're only here for a couple more weeks."

That's true. Very true. She's been avoiding thinking about it, if she's honest. That's what the baking had been about. Avoiding the reality of being in DC, being in the States, and knowing that Hotch, despite the fact that they've agreed to try out a quasi-relationship, is miles away working. Perils of the job, she knows, but that doesn't mean she has to like it.

"How close are you guys?"

"He's escalating. Hopefully not much longer."

It's a strange combination of words but she understands what he's trying to say.

"Hopefully just a couple more days."

She hummed.

"I miss you," he says, voice low. She wonders where he is that he's so candid. It's still a shock, for sure, but she's getting more used to it now that a whole bunch of barriers no longer exist. "Are you sleeping in my bed?"

A fission of heat shoots through her. How can it not? "I am."

"Good."

One word and he says so very much. Her gut clenches.

Then he swears. "I have to go."

"Okay."

"Jack-"

"I'll hug him. Say you love him."

There's a pause, like he's absorbing that last moment.

"Soon, Emily."

She's really looking forward to it.


	17. December 16, 2013

She finds a text message on her phone the next morning.

It's half an hour old, which means they probably haven't even left yet. But the point of the matter is this: the case is done. He's coming home.

Jack can't wait anymore than she can and when Emily passes on the information that his Daddy will soon be home, he's half way into his snow gear before she even realizes what's going on. She cannot convince him to slow down, no matter how many times she explains to him that just because she has a text message doesn't mean that Daddy will be home by the time they get to Quantico.

Well, that and she's pretty sure her history with the Bureau and her INTERPOL creds'll only get her so far.

But Jack is insistent, so she packs up a handful of cookies – okay, way more than a handful, but she and Jack had definitely gone overboard with the baking and there's absolutely no way they'll be able to eat all of them – and they head to the BAU.

She has no problems with her ID. She gets lucky again in that the desk security is an agent she's familiar with and lets them through. She has to flash her INTERPOL badge a couple of times, but she has a trustworthy face and a child so they get to the BAU without much hassle, the same way they'd done when Jack had decided to drop off the candy canes. They get rid of what is probably an entire container of cookies before they hit the BAU.

And then, well, they wait.

. . . . .

He's never wanted to be back in DC in his life.

He has worked some of the worst cases a man – or woman – could see and even those days, even the days when Haley was pregnant, when Jack was a baby, after Haley had been killed, hell the days when he'd been a newlywed, they'd never felt like this. This is something entirely new and shockingly all-encompassing. In fact, he's pretty sure his legendary control is the only thing that keeps him from somehow expressing all of this.

And yeah, Rossi keeps shooting him these knowing looks and Reid looks a little put out when Hotch snaps a little too hard at the genius during the 'clean up' process, but really only a piece of him cares.

The other piece of him is focused on the fact that he's about to go home to Jack and Emily.

Jack  _and_ Emily.

There's a part of him that definitely cannot even believe it. It's a surreal concept. He's used to Emily being on the plane with him, joking, calming, but she's not here. She hasn't been for a while. He's not totally sure if going home to her – God,  _going home to her_  – is better or worse than simply having her with him.

All he knows is that he needs to be on the ground now.

It's an agonizing process. So much so that he's actually drained as they file into the offices of the BAU. He has hours worth of paperwork to close out the case too, but he'll wait. He's definitely going to wait. He won't even take it home either. Jack's there. Emily's there. It can all wait.

Maybe if he's lucky, if he plays his cards right, it can always wait.

He's wondered about it, he can't lie; what it would be like to have Emily with him permanently. Even more so now that she's actually with him more often, outside of the office and without the constrains of the job. One thing he's always valued about Emily, since long before now, is her ability to settle him. The things they see, that he sees, aren't for just anyone. It's actually a major reason his marriage to Haley disintegrated, he knows that now. But Emily…

Not Emily.

"Welcome back, my heroes!"

Garcia, of course. She greets them at the door to the BAU every time they return from a case. He knows the system, but he shifts past her while she's hugging Morgan. He's going to his office with a single-mindedness that he's definitely going to catch flak for later.

He.

Does.

Not.

Care.

He all but throws his briefcase on his couch, his go-bag dropping right next to it. There's a couple of things he does have to do before he can call it a night. His office is dark, blinds drawn as they usually are when he's not in the office. It's terribly comforting in comparison to the plane. Maybe it's because he's that much closer to home now.

And it feels damn good.

He's so focused on the task ahead of him that he completely misses the shadow that falls in the doorway.

"Cookie?"

She's shadowed, but he knows that figure, knows that shape. As well as he can. And she's a sight for sore eyes, that's for sure. She releases a sound – he's apparently grasped her wrist and tugged her into him – but then his lips are on hers and holy crap he does not care about anything.

Well, okay, it's a bit of a lie. He cares about this, about the feel of her back beneath his hands, the smell of her, the brush of her hair and the feel of her lips as she responds to him. He feels the pinch of her fingernails, unintentional, against his neck. It's a beautiful thing to feel her again, to smell her, to be able to grasp her hip and pull it into him.

She laughs a little when he releases her for air and he realizes she's got both hands on his neck and she looks a little glazed. "Hi."

"Hi."

She shivers and it makes him smile just a little bit wider.

But then she gets a hold of herself again and her smile turns less dazed. She looks properly happy to see him now, and he wonders, just briefly, if maybe she really has missed him as much as he's missed her.

"So. You never did answer the question about the cookies."

He wraps his arm around her again because it's dark enough in his office and because she's here and he bloody well can, and says, "Maybe at home."

"Home," she says with a smile and only a little bit of an arched eyebrow. "That sounds good."

It sounds like the best idea he's had in a while.


	18. December 17, 2013

She'd woken in Hotch's bed.

It's not a unique experience considering her last couple of days and yet it's simultaneously entirely new. As she wanders through a Virginia tree farm, she reflects on the warmth and domesticity of the morning. Honestly, the ease with which she fits into Hotch's life, Jack's life, is getting a little scary. Beyond her initial confusion – she honestly couldn't remember how she'd ended up at the Hotchner apartment – everything had been entirely seamless.

"Emily?"

Right. Christmas trees. They're hunting for Christmas trees. The perfect Christmas tree, to be precise.

Well, actually, they've found said perfect tree. The place is a nice family-run establishment and absolutely massive. So massive, in fact, that they'd been forced to attach their tree to a horse-drawn trailer because she and Hotch had argued over who would be responsible for dragging it back to the entrance. They hadn't argued about splitting up once they'd made it back to the beginning though. So she and Jack wait patiently – the line to have their tree wrapped had been utterly massive – around a bonfire with hot cider.

"Emily, did you have a star on your tree?"

It takes Emily a moment to compute what Jack is asking. The way her brain's been so foggy all day is starting to actually piss her off. "I had an angel."

Well, not entirely true, but she'd been young when they'd switched. It's the angel she remembers most.

Jack kicks his heavy boots against the log beneath him. Oh. Something's wrong. She's been so caught up in her own head that it seems she'd missed it entirely.

"Why do you ask, Buddy?"

"We have a star," Jack says, his feet still kicking.

There's something wrong with that. Now that she's focused on Jack and not the strange domesticity of the morning she can see it, clear as day.

"My friend Hannah as an angel," he says. "It's pretty."

Emily hums her agreement. "Angels usually are."

"Like Mommy."

Oh.

There's the lightbulb. Now she knows what's going on, or at least the reasoning behind whatever's got the youngest Hotchner bent out of shape.

"Honey, do you want an angel on your tree?"

Jack says nothing, just continues kicking his feet, but Emily's spent enough time with the kid now that she can see all the tells. He's chewing on his cheek, he can't sit still and his two-handed, white-knuckled grip on his Styrofoam cup is a dead giveaway. So, she waits.

"I miss Mommy," he says softly almost too quiet for her to hear. Her hand moves to his back automatically, her first instinct, of course, to comfort.

"That's normal," she promises. "I miss my dad every day."

"Your dad lives with the angels?" Jack asks, a little awed.

"He does. I wasn't much older than you when he died," she confides.

Jack's silent for another moment, processing, before he asks. "Is that why you had an angel on your tree?"

Oh God. Her throat clenches. "I hadn't thought about it like that," she lies.

Jack looks away, then back. "I want an angel, Emily. That way Mommy can have Christmas with us."

"Oh honey," she breathes and sets aside her cider to pull him into her arms. He allows it for a few moments then pulls away to look up at her.

"You have to keep it a secret," Jack tells him solemnly, a serious face like his father's. "You can't tell Daddy."

"If you tell your dad you want an angel-"

"No!" Jack exclaims. "You  _can't_. It'll make him sad. He can't be sad at Christmas."

"Jack-"

But the kid is already shaking his head. " _Promise_ , Emily."

God, it's a dilemma.

" _Promise_."

"I promise," she finally agrees.

Because she has an idea. A good idea. A great idea.

Even if it means she has to bite the bullet and call her mother.

Anything for Jack.


	19. December 18, 2013

"Is this a really good idea, Emily?" Elizabeth Prentiss asks, even as she watches her daughter rummage through boxes.

Emily's call had been an utter shock to the now-retired ambassador. Elizabeth hadn't even known her daughter was stateside – she's trying really hard not to be hurt by that – so hearing Emily's voice asking about old Christmas decorations had been all kinds of surprising. And, to be honest, it still doesn't make sense.

"It's not like either of us uses it," Emily pointed out, closing one box only to open another.

"Well, of course not," Elizabeth says. "Did you even decorate a tree? When was the last time you did?"

Emily's silent and Elizabeth knows her daughter well enough to know the answer is a negative. Of course it is. Elizabeth has no idea what sent her only child racing across an entire ocean – and much to her chagrin their relationship is definitely not good enough for Emily to confide that kind of information – but she knows enough to see that her daughter isn't happy.

"Emily-"

"Mother. Please."

Elizabeth grits her teeth behind Emily's back. As a parent she can't say this is ever what she wanted that first time she'd held her baby girl. This cloud of loneliness, the sadness she feels hanging over Emily's head. Elizabeth's always though Emily takes after her late father, and maybe a little too much. Her husband had always had such a big heart and Elizabeth knows enough about Emily's life to see the same in Emily.

So instead, the ambassador huffs. "I wish you'd told me earlier. I could have had Clara find it."

"Clara does enough," Emily argues in her mother's housekeeper's defense, reaching for another box.

This one has what Emily's looking for. Elizabeth can tell by the reverence and remembrance that washes over her daughter's face. She recognizes the angel Emily pulls from the box, of course. It had topped their family tree for well on twenty years. In fact, it had only been Elizabeth's decision to downsize to the Georgetown townhouse and she changed to a themed tree that had sent the angel into storage. Even Elizabeth hadn't had the heart to throw it away.

Jane, Elizabeth remembers, the name a ten-year-old Emily had given the tree topper. The angel had been a gift from Emily's paternal grandmother the year her father had died. Emily had seen it as an odd sort of sign and Elizabeth remembers tiptoeing down to find Emily talking to it like Jane could then talk to her father.

It had been both heartwarming and heartbreaking.

And even now, Elizabeth feels her throat clog with emotion. She knows Emily can see it when her not-so-little girl meets her eyes.

"Do you miss him?" Emily asks, smoothing down the yellowed satin skirt.

 _Every day,_  Elizabeth thinks, swallowing thickly. "Of course."

And maybe her daughter hears something in her mother's voice because Elizabeth sees the way Emily has to look away.

"Will you tell me what all of this is about?" Elizabeth asks softly.

Emily sighs. "Agent Hotchner's son, Jack. He misses his mom."

Elizabeth makes the connection swiftly and easily as she watches Emily stand gracefully. She makes her way back to Elizabeth and presses a kiss to her mother's cheek.

"Thank you, Mother. Merry Christmas."

. . . . .

Emily climbs the stairs slowly that evening. She'd needed a few hours after her mother's house to get control of her emotions. It's not a unique experience, by far. In fact, it's pretty much par for the course when Emily remembers John Prentiss. But she's better now, she thinks, knocking gently. Hotch answers it and the way he immediately slips into the hallway tells Emily maybe she's not as stable as she thinks.

"Everything okay?" he asks as he reaches for her, hands cupping her shoulders for a moment before sliding down her arms. He even tugs gently on the shimmering ribbon she'd wrapped around the angel's box.

"Yeah," she says, even as she leans into the touch. "Long day."

He doesn't ask, even though Emily can tell he wants to. She does like that about him, but it is a little surreal to have all of that legendary calm and patience directed towards her. Instead, he ushers her inside and straight to the couch where they've spread out all the tree decorations. It calms her almost immediately, especially when an eager Jack starts showing her each of the ornaments he'd made over the years. They even have a baby's first and a green ball with the kid's name in silver glitter. It's so obvious that Jack is a well-loved little boy.

"Hey," she says quietly, and Jack's head perks up immediately. He can tell there's something secret she wants to tell him. "Have you kept all of your advent gifts?"

His eyes absolutely light up and he races to his bedroom. She laughs when he comes back with a blanket. It's like he's squirrelled them all away, a secret he wants to keep for himself. She picks one up, the cookie from a few days ago, and finds the little gold loop.

"They're decorations!" Jack exclaims. It's an entirely different child from yesterday's tree hunting expedition. He scampers away. Emily closes her eyes for a moment, listening to Jack's excited chatter and Hotch's low replies from the kitchen. They both return moents later grinning at each other, then her.

"So, Buddy," Hotch says, "where do you want to start?"

It takes them the better part of an hour to hang the ornaments. Hotch had strung the lights before Emily's arrival, and thankfully so. It turns out Jack is shockingly picky about the placement of each particular piece. Emily had tried to help initially – despite the warning Hotch had whispered in her ear – but after the fourth correction she'd given up and cuddled beside Hotch instead.

But as Jack reaches for the star, Emily stops him.

"Come here, sweetheart."

Even Hotch is intrigued as Jack settles between them. She reaches for the box she'd brought. Jack accepts the gift gently and carefully, like he understands the precious nature of what the box contains. He takes his time opening it too. In fact, it's enough time for Emily to start worrying about whether this had really been a good idea.

But then Jack is unfolding the tissue paper and his eyes turn both shocked and reverent. "It's an angel."

"It's beautiful," Hotch rumbles from Jack's other side. "It looks old?"

She smiles tremulously, more at Jack than Hotch. "I got it when I was a kid. My dad's mom brought it back from Germany."

Jack looks utterly shocked. "Because of your daddy?" he whispers.

Her hand runs over his little head. "It is."

"But it's yours."

"I don't use it," she admits. "I dug it out of my mother's attic today. It used to go on my family's tree."

"But what happened?"

"Well, I'm not usually home," she admits.

Jack takes this in and ponders it a moment before he hands the box to Hotch. "Put her up, Daddy, please."

When he looks immediately to her, she smiles and nods reassuringly. It's what she wants. It's what the angel deserves. Jack climbs into her lap while Hotch adjusts the tree topper.

"This can be your family tree," he says. "And you can talk to your daddy while I talk to Mommy."

Her throat closes up and it takes her more than a few moments before she can say, "Sounds good."


	20. December 19, 2013

"We should go out."

Emily blinks her hand fumbling on her tea enough to slosh some over the edge. She hisses at the sting of the te water, rushing to run her hand under cold water. She and Hotch are up particularly early, a combination of an early night after an emotional day and an unspoken agreement to snatch some quiet time together.

"Sorry," he says mildly from his seat at the table. "I didn't think that would be a shock."

She shoots him a look. "I'm not shocked."

"That flesh burn mark says otherwise."

"It's early," she protests, still shaking out her stinging hand as she makes her way towards him. She settles gingerly in the seat next to him taking careful sips of her tea.

He's silent for a few moments, watching her before he says again, "We should go out."

"Okay," she answers easily, because she's not crazy enough to say no. "What did you have in mind?"

They end up at a little place in Georgetown Emily's always loved. It isn't until their entrees are set before them that it genuinely hits her: she's on a date. More than that, she's on a date with Hotch. It's surreal, she thinks, even as he regales her with entertaining stories about the year's cases. She's heard some, of course, because she keeps up with the team in a general sense, but all in all, it's a pleasant evening.

He'd told her to dress warm – and has refused to tell her why, but she figures it out when he tugs her off the Metro at Federal Center. The Mall is lit up, the trees strung with holiday lights and the monuments glowing against the snow. It makes the whole scene sparkle. Her breath catches at the sight and she slides her hand into his.

She looks up when he squeezes her fingers finding him smiling down at her. "Shall we?"

There's a hush over the city, one that only comes with a layer of sparkling white snow. They slip and slide over some of the packed paths as they wander passed the art gallery and Smithsonian Castle. She sighs.

"I used to have an apartment in Arlington, you know. I could see all of this every night, whenever I wanted, all lit up."

"I remember," he replies quietly as the wander towards the Washington Monument.

"Sometimes I miss it. London's beautiful and my flat isn't anything to scoff at, but it's not the same," she goes on. This time he waits her out.

And is handsomely rewarded.

"It was the closest to home I've ever felt, living here."

He wants to resist asking the question, but it flies out despite his will power. "Then why did you leave?"

"Doyle, I think," she answers, head tilted back to see the top of the Washington Monument. "Even knowing logically that he was dead, I could never settle."

He remembers that she never seemed comfortable here in the US, after Doyle. He'd known that. He'd reached out to her because of that in a lot of ways. He hasn't ever been very good at watching her suffer.

"So I left." She hates that her voice cracks. "And now London… London doesn't really feel like home either."

It's on the tip of his tongue to demand she move. It's the logical answer, the only answer that  _makes sense_. Here, is her home. Here with him, with them, with the people who are her family.

But it isn't his decision and he refuses to put that kind of pressure on her.

So he squeezes her hand instead, offering her support as best he can. She squeezes back with a smile that shakes around the edges. For the first time since she arrived, he actually gets the sense that something else is going on here, there's a bigger decision to be made.

He tugs her in, presses his mouth to hers. He can't make the decision for her, probably can't help her either, but he can present an extremely compelling argument for her return.

And maybe if he's lucky – or perhaps very,  _very_  good – she'll do just that.

She'll come home.


	21. December 20, 2013

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've had a couple people ask where the updates went. Real life and muse issues have been quite the barrier in getting this chapter even written, let alone up. Unfortunately, I don't like updating just for the sake of updating and with only a handful of chapters left here, I don't want to put something up that doesn't move the fic towards Christmas Day and the end. 
> 
> Patience is really, super appreciated. I'm trying, I promise, but it's important to me that when I post, it's something I won't completely cringe at when/if I come back to re-read it.

# December 20, 2013

The shelter the team meets at is bright and cheery, decorated for the season. Emily’s glad for it, and for the loud hustle and bustle of the place. She’d woken off and wholly confused as to why. She hasn’t been able to figure out the reason and it’s got her pretty down.

The charity work is helping. It’s Blake’s thing, apparently, her choice of team building activity and Emily can definitely see the merits of it. There’s something about giving back that certainly does wonders for each of them. Emily can see it, and it’s beautiful. It’s easy, she knows, to get caught up in the darkness they see and giving back is a way they can feel like they’re making a difference.

It’s settled her. So much so the words come out of her mouth before she even realizes it’s coming.

“I think I want to come back.”

Dave, the only team member around to hear her, doesn’t even blink. In fact, he barely acknowledges that he’s heard her, but Emily knows that’s not the case. It’s not Dave.

Eventually, he says, “To the BAU?”

She considers his question. The fact that she’s pretty much just blurted the words means she hasn’t thought this through, by any extent of the imagination. “No, not the BAU.”

It’s too much. She’s left, died, come back to life, returned… It’s a mess, and she refuses to add to that again. They’re just finding a stride and a routine again, she can’t ask them to shift what they’ve built for her again.

Dave doesn’t seem surprised. She’s getting the distinct impression that he’s seen this coming. He’s always been good at seeing her.

“Just… to the States,” she goes on. “I’m sure I could find a job in the State Department.”

“And be bored.”

Yeah, she would be, and maybe that’s part of what’s keeping her in the UK to begin with. She runs a gateway office, for goodness sake, and well enough that Clyde has confessed she has coworkers that refer to her affectionately as Queen P. And she loves it, she genuinely does. Maybe it’s why she couldn’t return to the team. She’s had a taste of this level of leadership and she’s not sure she could come back from it.

“Why would you come back?”

This si why she talks to Dave, she knows. In her experience, he always knows the right questions to ask, or thing to say without making her feel small and stupid.

“Because you guys are here.”

He nods once, she can see it out of the corner of her eye. “All of us?”

Emily rolls her eyes. It’s not a subtle question, not that she thinks it’s meant as one. “I wouldn’t uproot my life for the third time in five years for a relationship.”

Not even if it’s a relationship she’d yearned for, for much of her tenure back in the US. She’s too career-oriented for that, which sounds selfish and everything-

“But you’d do it for all fo us?”

She blows out a heavy breath. “It’s-I love London, I do, but- It’s not the same.”

“Neither are you.”

“No,” she agrees. Doyle saw to that. “And maybe that’s why it’s time to come back.”

To come home.

There’s a sparkle of approval in Dave’s eyes, like he’s already figure out her head. She hates him. Because she has changed. They’ve all changed, and while she knew the anger and resentment that had followed her return had been fair because they’d all changed. Maybe they all expected things to just return to how they had been and when they hadn’t, she’d started to itch beneath her skin.

But now, with distance and time, she can see how utterly damaging that mentality had been for all of them. She thinks maybe her acceptance of that, the knowledge that things will never be the same – for a number of reasons now – makes it easier to see what had been missing.

“What would you do?”

“DOD?” she replies. She hasn’t thought about it. She hasn’t done any research on it.

“Better than the State,” he allows.

She huffs a laugh. “I don’t know. I just thought about it.”

They fall into an easy, natural silence for a few minutes, spooning bowls of soup and chatting quietly with the people in line.

“Are you going to tell him?” Dave inquires.

Emily shakes her head, her eyes seeking Hotch out without thinking. “I don’t want to get his hopes up. I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.”

Hotch looks up in that clichéd way, and makes his way towards her. There’s worry in his eyes and she wonders if there’d been something in hers.

“Everything okay?” he asks, accepting the ladle Dave holds out.

She smiles and meets Dave’s eyes just before he wanders off. The latter offers a nod. He’ll keep her secret. He always does. So Emily leans over and presses a bit of a lingering kiss to Hotch’s cheek. “Everything’s great.”


	22. December 21, 2013

Emily drops to the couch in Hotch's apartment with an exhausted sigh. It had been an extremely long day. A great day, yes, but exhausting.

She hears Hotch chuckle from above her and manages to pry open one eye to glare at him as best she can. He doesn't apologize but he does hand her a cup of tea.

"I forget how much energy Henry has," she murmurs.

"You didn't have to handle bath and story time," he reminds her as he settles beside her.

"I think I would have fallen asleep if I hadn't," she answers.

He just chuckles again and her head drops to his shoulder. He wraps his arm around her easily and her eye closes. His fingers slide through her hair as they bask in the silence for a moment.

"You're good with him," Hotch says after a few minutes.

She hums her acknowledgement. It's not the first time he's said that about her relationship with Jack. Hell, it's not the first time anyone's said that, but it feels different. Maybe it's the way he says it, maybe it's the fact that their relationship is different now, but her stomach flips in all the good ways.

"You're good with both of them."

This time she tips her head back for a kiss he's more than willing to give. She lets herself sink into the kiss, in part because she'd wanted it in the first place but also because he is a talented kisser. And they've kind of had to be on their best behaviour all day.

Well, and she's been sleeping beside him for a week with no, ahem, benefits, and kind of on a bubble schedule with her flight back to London booked for the end of the month. There's a desperation she can feel creepy up in her chest and she knows from the small grunt she hears he can feel it in her too. So she pulls back, long enough to set her tea on the coffee table, to take his mug and do the same before she climbs onto his lap.

"Emily-"

She kisses him, silences him, because she doesn't want to hear the arguments that are on the tip of his tongue. Especially not when her knee's sliding across his thighs so she can straddle him, so she can push her body more firmly against his. God, the feel of him, the heat of him against her is exquisite and she shifts to get more. They both groan and Hotch breaks the kiss, panting against her cheek.

"Emily, no," he says.

"No," she agrees, breathlessly. "No skin just- Just this."

And even though neither of them have managed to catch their breath, she dives in again and he responds, his fingers digging hard into her hips before he gives in and runs them up her back.

She's glad, grateful even, because she can feel all sorts of confessions bubbling up in her throat. She wants to tell him everything. She wants to tell him she wants to come back, tell him she doesn't want London if her family isn't there, if he isn't there. She wants to tell him about her full heart and the way her stomach does Olympic level gymnastics when he's in the room.

She kisses him instead.

Thing is, it must be a bit of a tell because the next time they break for air, he slides one hand into her hair and pulls her tight, tucking her head into his neck. She huffs a little, but doesn't argue because she is feel tired and off-kilter and she hopes that maybe, if he doesn't make her look at him, she'll manage to keep it all inside.

"Everything okay?" he rumbles after a few minutes of silence.

She nods. "Tired."

As long as he doesn't make her look.

The secret-keeping Gods are on her side today because instead of asking questions, he surprises her by sliding his hands under her thighs and lifting. She squeaks, she can't help it, because she's honestly impressed. Hotch isn't exactly young and she's no lightweight.

"Bed," he says and actually carries her the whole way to his bedroom.

It's incredibly domestic, getting ready for bed together, and this time she uses her toothbrush to keep her from saying anything too revealing, anything she'll regret later.

It isn't until they're curled in bed, Emily pressed against his back, that he squeezes the hand she has curled against his stomach.

"When you figure it out, you'll tell me?"

Emily blinks and knows that if she hadn't already been in love with him, this moment would have sent her tumbling head first over the cliff.

"Always," she replies, hoping to God her voice doesn't break. She's in luck because he just squeezes her fingers before lifting them to brush his lips across the tips.

"Good."

It takes a long time for Emily to catch up with her internal organs after that and he's definitely asleep when she presses her mouth very gently to his shoulder blade and whispers, "I love you. I'm coming home."


	23. December 22, 2013

If there's one thing JJ's learned from the last decade of her life, it's the importance of family. Will and Henry, of course, but also the family outside of her gorgeous little townhouse. And JJ worries about every single one of them.

She worries about Reid because there's still an innocence and naiveté about him; Morgan because he's so bloody reckless; Rossi – especially after Strauss – because he keeps so much to himself, untouchable and isolated; Hotch because even with Jack the man most definitely works way too much; Blake because she's new and despite the fact that JJ likes her and likes the way she fits, there's still a tiny traitorous part of her that sees Alex as Emily's replacement; and Penelope because sometimes JJ worries the woman wears her heart too obviously on her sleeve.

And then, of course, there's Emily.

Emily is a different layer of worry. JJ worries about her very best friend differently than she does the rest of them. They're equal, is the thing, both capable of doing so much, so it's not that JJ necessarily worries about Emily's abilities. It's more than that. At first, it had just been Doyle, of course. JJ isn't really the type to want her friends dead, and certainly not due to a mission that had very shady parts. Then, with her 'death', JJ had spent months worrying about Emily's recovery and how she'd been getting on in Paris. Of course, that had been overtaken by worries about team cohesion and Emily readjusting to life above ground. When Emily's attitude had turned skittish and uncomfortable, JJ had worried again. Then of course, her move to London and the changes of Interpol…

It's not that JJ's a worrywart. She just cares, deeply. It's not debilitating and it doesn't take over her life or keep her from enjoying her days. They're just little itches in the back of her mind. But she does know that there's something, once again, up with Emily.

They're shopping, last minute gifts, and it's chaos, but JJ's pretty sure that it isn't the chaos that's got Emily acting a little off.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Her best friend tires to play it off, kind of. She tries to look surprised, tries to look like JJ's insane, but it's just kind of screws her face up because JJ can see it all in her eyes. They've spent too much time together in ways that have challenged them both for Emily to really play at pretend. So, JJ just rolls her eyes. Emily's go wide, and it's her tell. Subtle, but there and JJ huffs a breath.

"There's something bothering you. I'm asking if you want to talk about it."

It takes a moment, not that it surprises JJ at all. Emily's a private person by nature, always has been and will be, but JJ's patient. And used to it.

"I'm thinking about moving back to the States."

JJ's gut reaction is, admittedly, negative. With everything Emily went through in the US and the infinitely more relaxed nature of her best friend, JJ's honestly not sure it's the best idea.

"You don't think it's a good idea."

JJ huffs. "I don't think it's a bad idea."

Because she'd never actually say she didn't want her very best friend within logical travel distance. To say so would have been an outright lie.

Emily's arched eyebrow is the only indication that she'd like more information.

"You weren't happy here."

Both women know Emily cannot argue with that. It hadn't felt like home. It had been a fight, every day, to push herself. Sometimes, JJ had been pretty sure Emily had been having more bad days than good days.

"You're happy now."

Emily shrugs. "I'm happier."

"Of course you are," JJ replies on a bit of a laugh. "You run an Interpol office. It's one step away from ruling the world."

That makes Emily laugh, bright and unforced. "It is awesome."

"Of course it is!"

"And London's beautiful."

"It's  _London_."

"The accents," Emily gushes. "Every day."

"I'm jealous."

They laugh together again.

"But it's not here," Emily says when they've calmed.

"Of course not."

"You guys aren't there."

JJ chews her lip for a moment. "All of us?"

She can see the way Emily wants to roll her eyes but the validity of the question stands.

"It's not just Hotch," Emily says quietly. "You guys are my family."

"You've lived away from your family for most of your life," JJ points out.

"My mother? Wouldn't you?" When JJ just shrugs, Emily says, "It doesn't count. The last time I felt at home was when I was here, with you guys."

"But that changed."

Emily doesn't have to acknowledge the truthfulness of JJ's statement.

"Are you convinced it's going to change back?"

"I'm convinced that something's changed while I've been away. There's something missing. I love my job, it's wonderful; my flat is beautiful, but the BAU taught me that's not enough."

"You built a family here," JJ points out.

Emily sighs. "I don't want another one."

JJ chuckles. "You sound like Henry at bedtime."

"I just- It feels good to be back. It feels right. And yes, in part because of Hotch. Because that feels right too."

"It was a long time coming," JJ acknowledges.

Emily's smile is strangely shy, but happier than JJ had seen when Emily's by herself. It's a beautiful thing.

"I want you to think it through," the blond says softly. "You have a phenomenal job, you finally looked settled and relaxed. The people are just a piece, and what happens if you move back and it's not everything you'd dreamed of? Easter isn't just going to hand you the Interpol office again. You grabbed onto an opportunity of a lifetime-"

"Only to walk away back to so many unknowns," Emily acknowledges.

"And I don't want to see you turn around in a month, regretting it because the US still doesn't feel like home," JJ agrees.

Emily huffs. "I haven't made a decision. I'm- I'm thinking about it."

She sounds defensive and JJ reaches out. "Hey. Em, hey." She waits for Emily to look at her. "If you think coming back, moving back to the States, is what's best for you, we will welcome you back with open arms, no questions asked."

Emily blows out a breath like she's composing herself. Then she says. "London is not home."

"The US may not be either," JJ points out.

"Where else?" Emily replies. "Certainly not… Bolivia."

"No," JJ agrees. "Or Afghanistan."

"Definitely not," Emily says.

Sensing they'd come to the end of the conversation, JJ grins. "So, shopping?"

Emily laughs. "Yeah."


	24. December 23, 2014

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To meadowundertown. Without whom I would not have dug up the motivation to write this bastard of a chapter.

Hotch isn’t sure what wakes him in the early morning hours of December 23rd. It’s not the first time it’s happened and it definitely won’t be the last. At least this time he’s pretty sure whatever it is, it’s real rather than the phantom feelings that have also pulled him from sleep. Emily’s still out cold beside him. It’s not surprising since she’d looked exhausted when she’d returned from shopping with JJ. He’s glad to see it. A year ago, the slightest of sound or movement would have woken her. It doesn’t seem to have the same effect now.

He wonders if maybe Doyle is further away than they’d all thought.  

As a result, Hotch is able to slip from bed without waking her, though he can’t seem to stop himself form sliding his fingers through the hair splayed over his pillow. There’s a tiny smile on his face as he moves carefully out of the room. He pulls the door, but doesn’t close it on high alert as he heads towards a glow that should not be shining in the apartment. He’s pretty sure he turned out all the lights. He hears very quiet murmuring next and feels himself relax, just a little. Knowing there’s a real reason he woke always makes him feel just a little less crazy.

“Jack?”

His little boy looks more than a little guilty as his head whips around. Hotch sighs. True, it’s is too late and too early for Jack to be out of bed, but Hotch isn’t mad. It’s strange, is all. Jack’s always been a champion sleeper, something he’s glad his son inherited from the Brooks’ side. This kind of thing, this night wandering, is exceedingly rare.

“What’s wrong, Buddy?”

Jack shrugs and turns back to the tree. He’s turned the lights back on and that glow that had brought him out here settles over them both as Hotch sits beside his son.

“I was talking to Mommy.”

Hotch’s heart lurches painfully. “What does Mommy say?”

Jack gives him a look that is definitely too adult for the kid’s young face. “Mommy can’t talk back.”

And that pain in his heart intensifies.

“It’s okay, Daddy,” Jack says, crawling into his father’s lap. He’s getting too big for it, but that’s a whole other painful discussion. “It’s Mr. George’s fault. And it’s okay. I still have you.”

God. Isn’t comfort supposed to work the other way around? Hadn’t he come out to check on Jack? They fall silent, but Hotch knows his son. It’s just a matter of time. Hotch’s patience is legendary.

“Daddy, I want Emily to stay.”

He has to swallow thickly before he can say, “I do too, Buddy.”

It’s another couple of moments before Jack says, “Do you think she will? Maybe if we ask nice?”

“Jack, we can’t ask,” Hotch replies seriously. “If Emily wants to say, that’s her choice and she has to make it by herself, okay?”

Jack is so very much not impressed by that answer. “Why?”

Hotch puzzles that over for a moment. The problem is it’s not really his story to tell. “Emily left because she wasn’t happy,” he says carefully. “And she needed to leave.”

“But we’re here,” Jack replies with characteristically simple logic. “And Emily’s happy with us. I know she is. She’s always smiling.”

And this is where it gets complicated. How does he explain Doyle and her death and the paranoia and terror that comes from all of that? “She is, I think. But it’s not always that easy.” He casts about for an example. “Remember when we moved here?”

Jack nods.

“I told you we needed somewhere that was ours, just you and me.”

They’d needed a fresh start, away from everywhere Foyet and the divorce had poisoned. And isn’t that a new perspective on Emily’s mindset in the aftermath of Doyle.

“Is that what happened to Emily? A bad man hurt her and she went away?”

“Emily didn’t feel right,” Hotch says carefully. “She didn’t feel safe.”

“But you’re here. You keep people safe. Why not Emily?”

As if the situation isn’t complicated enough. “Sometimes, that’s not enough.”

“Did Emily not know you would make her safe? Because that’s silly, Daddy and you should tell her.”

“She knows, Buddy.”

He believes that, and knows Emily does too. They all trust each other implicitly. But Doyle had been dead and even that hadn’t been enough. Doyle was a ghost that no one but Emily could fight.

“Then why won’t she stay?”

He doesn’t have an answer and so, he does the next best thing. Deflection. “Why do you want her to stay?”

Jack shrugs, but it’s so obviously evasive.

“Buddy?”

Jack turns and buries his face in Hotch’s shoulder. When he speaks, Hotch has to decipher the mumbling through the sleeve of his t-shirt.

“I don’t miss Mommy so much when Emily’s here.”

Oh. Oh his little boy. Hotch wraps his arms around Jack tight, just the right amount of pressure. Sometimes Jack still relates being hugged too tight to Haley’s death.

“We have to let Emily choose,” Hotch says. “For the right reasons. Then maybe she’ll be happy here again.”

“And then we can keep her?”

“Yeah, Buddy. Then maybe we can keep her.”

. . . . .

Emily leans her head against the wood of Hotch’s bedroom door. This sucks, she thinks. Her emotions are haywire, part guilt, part sadness, part driving motivation to come home.

_Home_.

God. It’s such a complicated word, and this is the first time in a very long time where it hasn’t felt complicated at all. But she also sees why JJ had been so adamant that Emily take her time in making the monumental decision on the tip of her tongue. She cannot, _cannot_ , make a decision like this based on the sadness wrenching her gut. She wants to, God, does she want to. She wants to call Easter now, demand that he help her return Stateside, but she can’t. She knows she would be setting a chain of events in motion to deal with the stabbing pain in her chest, the lead weight in her gut.

So instead, she pulls herself away from the door. She’s not even sure why she decided to eavesdrop anyway. It never works out well, and she knows that. She forces herself to breathe as she curls back up beneath the sheets.

Things, she hopes, won’t feel so brutal in the morning.


	25. December 24, 2014

When the sun rises on Christmas Eve, there’s still a strange cloud that hangs over Emily’s head. It’s a cloud no one’s talking about though, rather deliberately. She wonders if they’re all feeling the heavy weight of her last six days.

The drive to Dave’s, where the team has gathered for the annual Christmas dinner, is just as quiet as the rest of the day. Everything still feels heavy, despite the comforting weight of Hotch’s hand in hers. The bright happiness of the whole team lifts her heart a little bit though and it’s enough to carry her through the loud, bordering on obnoxious, mood of the dinner table.

It helps that Dave’s gone all out. Well, probably not just Dave. The mashed potatoes are all but stamped with Penelope’s touch and she’s pretty sure the turkey is all Derek’s heavy traditionalism showing through. Dessert’s no different. The pie, apple, is definitely Will’s. Emily knows that because JJ had once let slip that Will’s mother had been adamant he learn the recipe to impress girlfriends. It’s successful, for sure, because it never stops impressing his wife. They’ve all contributed, it’s obvious, and despite the heaviness of the last couple of days, there’s a warmth taking root in her stomach.

It’s a warmth that grows as she and Reid run clean up and well into the coffee they all settle down for in Dave’s massive den. When their mugs are drained and sitting empty on Dave’s kitchen island, their host disappears. When he returns, he comes bearing tiny tea lights.

Oh. She’d forgotten about this part.

The Christmas after Emily had dragged Derek and JJ to Indianapolis, chasing the case that had haunted Dave for decades, Dave had thrown their first family Christmas dinner. He’d also introduced them to this particular tradition.

“I’m sure you all remember how this works,” he says, his eyes landing significantly on Emily. “But just in case,” and here his eyes trail to Alex and her husband, “light a candle for each person who can’t be with us. Whether it’s because of distance or otherwise.”

He cracks open the plastic, always new, always Ikea, and pulls out a candle. “I’ll start.” He lights it with a flourish because he’s Dave and he can. “Carolyn Rossi.”

His wife.

Penelope goes next, not that they generally follow any particular pattern. She lights two, for her parents. Derek follows her, of course, gripping his girlfriend’s hand as he says his father’s name. Will’s clear voice dedicates his candle to his father and Reid chooses to honour his mother first. Diana Reid is far from dead, but she’s always so close to Reid’s heart.

The candles start to gather on Dave’s empty coffee table. Alex’s mother, Emily’s father, Gideon, Strauss, Haley, Maeve, the list is long. Eventually, they’re left with a table almost glowing with burning candles and a silence that is not near as stifling as it could be, considering the tradition. There’s a lightness to it, a burden lifted. Henry’s cracking yawn breaks the quiet and it sparks the mass exodus. Emily hangs back, watches the tiny lights flicker.

Then she reaches for one more candle.

“Who is that one for?”

Emily doesn’t look up as she watches the wick catch. Instead, she places the candle down, then holds out her hand. Hotch joins her, settling beside her on the couch.

“I loved Ian,” she tells him softly. “Lauren Reynolds, Emily Prentiss, that’s just semantics. I loved him, even though I knew what he was.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t-“

“I’m not,” she interrupts. “I’m not justifying or explaining. These are facts. I loved Ian, long after I locked him up, and long after he broke out again. I loved him when he tracked me down, when he held a gun to my head, when he branded me. I loved him and I hated myself for it. He was a monster.”

She pauses because she has to, because her chest is tight and her lungs are burning.

“But he was also Ian, my Ian. He was the first one to convince me I was strong and fearless because he saw me that way. He was the first one to show me our pasts are just pieces of us, not definitions. As terrible as he was, he was also beautiful. He loved his son. He loved me. He loved his cause.”

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t argue. She’s glad for it, even thinks he probably understands. Hotch is one of the few, she’s sure, who would, complications and all.

“I remember talking one day, just in passing really – I don’t think either of us really actually expected to get married, even with the rings – about what the ceremony would look like. I remember both of us being against a religious ceremony. It really didn’t seem right. Neither of us were particularly devout and with our actions, well, we weren’t likely to be exactly welcomed.”

She shakes her head.

“But there was one passage Ian was fixated on, swore we had to have someone read it. 1 Corinthians 13.”

“Do you remember it?” he murmurs.

She hums and her eyes slide closed. “Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. Love does not demand its own way. Love is not irritable and it keeps no record of when it has been wronged.” She pauses, breathes, then continues, “There are three things that will endure – faith, hope and love – and the greatest of these is love.”

She feels him press his mouth to her head, feels it against her temple.

Emily watches the candle flicker with the rest and feels something loosen in her chest. It feels like a good final goodbye. So she turns and presses her mouth solidly to his.

Time to move forward.

“Ready to go?” she asks.

He searches her face and finds it clear and relaxed. He knows there’s something different, but he’s not totally sure of what it is. He doesn’t care really, because she looks more positive than they’ve felt over the last couple of days.

“Ready when you are,” he replies. “I’ll get Jack.”

She’s grateful because it gives her another moment to watch the flame. Then, because she’s always been big on symbolism, she leans forward and blows it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Bible verse is my favourite. 1 Corinthians 13: 4-7 & 13\. In this case, it comes from The Jesus Bible out of Tyndale House Publishing. It's kind of a modern translation, which is why it flows like it does.


	26. December 25, 2013

Aaron wakes way too early on Christmas morning. It's not that it's technically early, but with how late they'd been up the night before, his body is certainly telling him he could do with a few more hours. He has every intention of getting them, he thinks, and rolls over with every intention of snuggling up to his bedmate. Except, she's not there.

It puts him on edge. Given their discussion over the previous night's candlelight vigil, he can't help it. Sure, they'd walked out of Rossi's house obviously a little lighter than they'd entered, but honestly, he can't be sure about which way that positivity goes. And, more importantly, what that means for them.

So, he pulls himself from bed. If she's struggling, he doesn't want her to do it alone. Well, and he wants to spend as much time with her as he can. It doesn't take long to find her, of course. His apartment isn't particularly large and it's not like she would just walk out. Instead, she's curled up in the corner of his couch.

"Emily."

She jumps, tearing her eyes from the winter wonderland outside. "Aaron. You should be asleep."

"So should you," he replies. She'd done as much of the Santa-related last minute preparation as he had.

"I'm good."

She's not, and he just arches an eyebrow to let her know there's no way he believes her. He settles on the couch, close, but not touching. He doesn't know if she's welcome it, as independent as she is when she's dealing with her own issues. She doesn't curl immediately into his side, of course, but she does shift entirely to face him.

"When Clyde first told me he was giving me the forced month off, I wasn't entirely impressed." She rolls her eyes, but he knows it's at herself. She's never been good at taking time off.

"I mean, what the hell was I going to do? Then JJ and Garcia got involved, and well."

Well, indeed. JJ, Aaron knows, is hard to say 'no' to on her own, Garcia even harder, but both of them? He's smart enough to know it's a useless battle.

"Plus, I've missed you all. Dearly. London's not the same without you all."

Washington isn't the same without her either.

She reaches out then, grasping his hands. "And then there was you, and I couldn't say 'no', not after how long I'd waited. The distance didn't seem to matter to you, and neither did the idea of a test-"

He cuts her off because he has to, because he has to kiss her and because what else is he supposed to do? What other choice had he had when presented with the idea of having her? She'd been right in front of him, single and no longer her subordinate and while he doesn't generally believe in fate, he isn't an idiot.

She's moved closer by the time they separate, her leg pressing against his. "Aaron, I want to come home."

It takes him a moment to understand what she's saying, both because they both give their all to every physical expression of emotion and because it's a phrase that he absolutely had not anticipated.

"What?"

Emily laughs a little, just quietly because Jack is still sleeping just down the hall. Her hand comes up to his cheek. "I want to come home."

Her face is soft, relaxed, but. "If this is about us-"

"No," she cuts him off. "This is about me."

And, true, she's not exactly in the habit of making these big decisions for anyone else.

"What about your job?"

She turns her cheek into the hand he can't help using to reach for her. "It's just a job."

"It's not," he answers, her hair tickling his fingertips. It's a gateway office, a prestigious job, with an extremely prestigious organization.

"It's just a job," she repeats. "A phenomenal job, but there are other options. Options here, that are not with the BAU or the Bureau." She smiles. "I took the time, I took the space. But Aaron, it's really time to come home."

"Emily." He takes her mouth, because he has to, because he has no other way of expressing the tumultuous emotions racing through him. "Sweetheart."

She laughs into the kiss, her fingers dancing across his jaw, his cheek. "Merry Christmas, Aaron."

His hand slides into his hair and he tugs as he topples backwards, yanking her with him and relishing the little surprised squeak she emits. His mind trips ahead of him, scenes of having her stateside forever, scenes of never having to let her go.

She wants to come home.

He couldn't have asked for a better Christmas gift.


End file.
